The Predestination Paradox
by Zsugami Alba
Summary: When Harry finds himself in the time of the founders, he makes a shocking discovery. Meanwhile, in the present, Draco finds himself in desperate need of a bucket list. Rated T for "cheeky" behavior.
1. What Have I Done?

**ZA: AAAAAACK! Plot Bunnies! Run away! Run away! This idea would just not leave us alone. We have notes about it clipped onto the front of our refrigerator. And it's funny. Crispy laughed so hard, she had to go to the bathroom.**

 **Crispy: Hey, I made it in time. And you hurt your back from laughing so hard.**

 **ZA: Well, you have to admit that the whole "mooning" thing was really funny.**

 **Crispy: Shush! Spoilers.**

 **ZA: Stop trying to be River Song.**

 **Crispy: I wasn't.**

 **Godric Gryffindor: What's this? Where am I? It's so...messy.**

 **Crispy: Ahem. The correct term is "cluttered".**

 **GG: Oh, I do beg your pardon, madame. Now, what did you wish me to recite again?**

 **ZA: It's on that piece of paper in your hand.**

 **GG: Oh! Of course, right. Ahem. Zzzoo...zzzsssooo...gammeee? Aaaallllba...Alba does not own Harry Potter. Did I read that right?**

 **ZA: Close enough.**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

Chapter 1: What have I done?

Today, class, you will be attempting to brew Pepper Up potion. I have very low expectations. If any of you actually manages to create something remotely resembling the desired result, the student with the lowest score may earn extra credit by ingesting your work.

"Snape's offering extra credit?" Ron whispered.

Harry shook his head. "Consider what you have to do to get it. I'm not drinking that stuff if he chooses Malfoy's batch."

Snape glared at the class, successfully silencing the excited chatter. "Instructions are on the board. You may begin."

Harry tried. He really, really did try, but then his potion emitted a slow, rude noise and began to congeal into a mess resembling spoiled cranberry sauce. He glanced over at Ron's cauldron, guiltily hoping his friend's concoction would explode and demand an immediate and distracting evacuation. Nope. Ron was actually doing pretty well. His potion was only slightly murkier than Hermione's. Even Neville's potion was looking fairly innocuous.

"Evanesco. A zero for today, Potter. Unless you wish to try your luck with the cauldron of my choice?" Snape's expression seemed blank at first glance, but Harry noticed a disturbing glee in the man's eyes.

"I suppose that depends on whose cauldron you choose. After all, you once told us to never accept a potion from an untrusted source," Harry covered quickly.

Snape looked mildly put out - probably because he'd never expected Potter to use his own words against him. "Perhaps you will feel comfortable if I offer you the fruits of Miss Granger's earnest endeavors?"

Harry sighed in relief. There was no way Hermione had mucked up her potion in any dangerous way. What was he saying? Hers was undoubtedly perfect. Well, as long as there weren't any cats in the classroom. "I would be happy to test Hermione's potion."

Hermione smiled shyly, obviously pleased by Harry's show of trust. She poured a dose of her potion into a vial and handed it to him. He downed it immediately. Then he caught the look on Snape's face. His professor looked...expectant? Amused? Harry didn't have time to figure it out before, with a resounding bang, Hermione's cauldron exploded.

When the smoke cleared, students and professor were left staring at the spot where Harry had been standing just moments before. All was silent. Across the aisle, Draco Malfoy's face grew even paler than normal. "What have I done?" he whispered. "I've killed Harry Potter."


	2. Preserving the Timeline

**ZA: All right, Helga. Just stand over here, and read this paper for me, please.**

 **Helga Hufflepuff: Why? What is all this? Is this something Godric cooked up? I refuse to embarrass myself for that man.**

 **ZA: Oh, nononono! It's a disclaimer. I'm just covering my bases.**

 **Helga: Ah. That's all right, then. Zsugami Alba -**

 **Crispy: *whispering* She pronounced it correctly!**

 **Helga: -does not own Harry Potter. Well, I should hope not. Slavery is wrong.**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

Chapter 2: **ZA: A whole new world…**

 **Crispy: Stop singing. That's terrible.**

 **ZA: Sorry. It's stuck in my head.**

 **Crispy: Well, we aren't using it for a chapter title.**

 **ZA: Fine.**

Chapter 2: Preserving the Timeline

Harry woke up and found himself lying on something that was definitely not stone. It was decidedly wetter than that. With an unpleasant squelch, he raised himself to a sitting position and looked around. There was moss, grass, mud, mud, and more mud. Oh, and the occasional puddle of muddy water. "Am I in a swamp?"

"A swamp?" said a voice behind him. "What do you mean 'a swamp'? This is a fen, I'll have you know." Harry turned to see a short, middle-aged, grumpy-looking wizard with a scraggly brown beard.

"I beg your pardon," said Harry. "I've never been in a fen before. What do you call this place?"

"Fen," replied the man in a tone that obviously implied Harry was a bit dim in the attic.

Harry nodded. "Right. Of course. Fen. Are we anywhere near Hogwarts?"

"Hogwarts? What's that? A pig farm? This isn't exactly the sort of place that's conducive to raising pigs," the wizard informed a bewildered Harry, who was now staring at the man's clothes.

"What...year...is it?" Harry asked him.

"It's 986." When Harry looked at him blankly, the man added helpfully: "A.D."

Harry nodded again. "Right. And this is...Fen. Do you know anyone named Slytherin? Tall wizard, looks like a really old monkey?"

The man stood up straight. "I pride myself on knowing every single wizard in Fen, and I assure you there isn't any Slytherin here. Never has been."

Harry wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or relieved. On the one hand, he had hoped that the only thing he could recall hearing about Fen (from Hermione's ramblings, of course) would be a man who could help him. On the other hand, Harry wasn't really sure he'd want to meet up with the infamous Salazar Slytherin. But wait, Slytherin was supposed to be here. Harry was sure the Founder was from Fen. The date seemed to be right. Suddenly, a horrible thought struck him.

"What's your name boy?" The wizard was peering at him cautiously. Probably wondering if Harry were a muggle and possibly dangerous.

' _For the timeline,'_ thought Harry.

"The name's Salazar. Salazar Slytherin."

* * *

Malfoy was pacing frantically back and forth in his dorm. "What am I going to do? What am I going to do? I killed Harry Potter. I _killed_ Harry Potter. I knew I shouldn't have messed with Granger's cauldron. It was a very bad idea. Bad, bad Draco. What would Mother say? What will the Dark Lord do to me? I don't want to die! I'm too pretty to die. I killed Harry Potter."

The door opened and Zabini stepped in with a concerned look on his face. "You all right, Draco? You look…"

"Shut up, Zabini! Leave me alone! Can't you see I'm wallowing in despair? I'll call you when I'm ready to make out my will. You'll agree to be a witness, yes?" Draco was now gripping the front of Zabini's robes like a lifeline. "Tell me, am I a good wizard? Will I go to heaven?"

Zabini rolled his eyes and pried Draco's fingers from his robes. "Yes, of course, Draco. You're a fine wizard. You'll go to heaven and wear a white robe and play a golden harp among the clouds."

Draco straightened up. "White robe? I look dreadful in white. What do they wear in hell?"

Zabini smirked. "Don't be silly, Draco. They don't wear clothes in hell. They just burn. You'd be all 'Look at me! I'm on fire, but at least I'm not wearing white after Labor Day!' Get a grip on yourself."

Draco looked hopeful. "You think I'll make it to Labor Day? Hmm...I suppose I might. Depends on how long it takes the Dark Lord to discover I'm behind it all."

Zabini looked horrified. "Behind what? What have you done that would displease the Dark Lord? He'll kill you. I doubt you have much time left. You'd better make the most of it."

"Make the most of it?" Draco asked.

"Yeah, you know. Live it up. No regrets. Cross as much off your bucket list as you can before you actually kick it. The bucket, that is."

Draco looked puzzled. "Why would I keep a list of buckets and then kick them? You're not making sense, Zabini. I'm being serious here."

"So am I. A bucket list is a list of things you want to do before you die. 'Kicking the bucket' is a common way to refer to dying."

"How vulgar," Draco sniffed. "But you're right. If my life is now considerably shortened, I must endeavor to live as much as I can in the time I have left."


	3. Every Dark Cloud Has a Silver Lining

**ZA: So Draco is dying and Harry is stuck in the past, but everyone thinks Harry is dead. Also, Draco isn't really dying, he's just going to be killed when Voldius Moldius finds out that Harry is "dead." In short, Draco is doomed.**

 **Crispy: Not that Voldie doesn't want Harry dead. He just wants to be the author of that particular DIY YouTube video.**

 **ZA: "Wormtail! Are you getting this? Zoom in! No! In! I want you to have this edited in time to upload it to my channel tonight. And have you subscribed to me yet? Why not? Do you not enjoy my cat videos?"**

" **But, Master, that's Nagini wearing cat ears and whiskers."**

 **Crispy: "She's cosplaying. That's a thing, isn't it?"**

 **Blaise Zabini: Zsugami Alba does not own Harry Potter.**

 **Crispy: That's it? You know it's all right to ad lib a bit, right?**

 **BZ: I have better things to do than cater to the whims of fools.**

 **Crispy: I feel insulted. Do you feel insulted?**

 **ZA: Ehhhh...I choose not to care. His opinion doesn't matter in the long run. He's only a tertiary character.**

 **BZ: What's that? Tertiary? Me?**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

Chapter 3: Every Dark Cloud Has a Silver Lining

"Pansy, we need to talk," said Draco.

Pansy whispered something to her giggly friends as she peeled away to follow Draco down an empty corridor. She gazed up at him through her disturbingly false eyelashes (' _Really, they're like tarantula legs!'_ ) as she sidled up close to him in the alcove, her french manicured talons digging into his arm. "What is it, Snookiemuffin?"

Draco didn't bother to suppress the violent shudder that usually overcame him whenever Pansy's voice dropped into what she had once laughingly referred to as the "siren song register". One of the muggleborns from Ravenclaw had compared it to Arnold Schwarzensomething, whoever that was. When Draco asked, the Ravenclaw had gone on to describe at length some sort of demon from the future that hunted pregnant muggles. Yeah, that seemed pretty accurate.

"I told you, I'm not your Snookiemuffin," Draco snapped. "What does that even mean? No, nevermind. Don't speak. I have something very important to tell you, and I need you to pay very close attention to everything that comes out of my mouth in the next 60 seconds." ' _Dear Merlin, don't let this take longer than 60 seconds.'_ "Now, Pansy -"

"Wait, Draco," Pansy interrupted with a patient look. "Shouldn't you be kneeling for this?"

"What on earth for?" Draco was confused.

"Not that it matters. The answer is yes - always yes."

"Oh!" Draco looked relieved. "That was easier than I thought it would be. All right then. It's not you, it's me...you'll find someone better someday...or at least more deserving...Oh! And here's a box with all your stuff in it. You know, the little notes and things that you've given me that I don't have to keep anymore." Draco handed a very perplexed Pansy a large box overflowing with frilly, flower-scented letters and knickknacks.

"Draco," she mumbled. "What is all this?"

"It's a breakup box. Why? Haven't you ever received one before? They're traditional for situations such as ours."

…

"YOU'RE BREAKING UP WITH ME? HOW DARE YOU! I'VE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING, YOU...YOU...YOU...MOULTING PEACOCK!" Pansy seemed to be more upset about this than she'd led him to believe.

"Now, Pansy, there's no need to shout. I thought you were expecting this. It's quite logical, really. We don't belong together. Plus, it wouldn't be fair to you to stay together now that I'm going to die." Draco nodded once, decisively, before making a speedy retreat. He was sure she would need time alone to pull herself together and come to terms with the new reality of their relationship.

* * *

"FREEEEEDOM!" Draco's jubilant shouts preceded him as he ran through the corridors of the castle, arms wide, grin even wider. "Freedom! I'm free! I'm freeeeeeee! Existence has never tasted so sweet. The sky is bluer, the grass is greener, and the Hufflepuffs are even Hufflepuffier than ever! And no, I don't know what that means, but I don't care! I'm free!"

Ron stared in shock as Malfoy skipped happily through the crowd of students, hugging random passersby.

"What's gotten into him?" Hermione wondered aloud.

Ron growled. "Isn't it obvious? He's rejoicing now that Harry is gone. It's Malfoy's dream come true, the git." He reached for his wand, intending to send a nasty hex in the oblivious Slytherin's direction, but Hermione grabbed his arm.

"No, you don't," she warned. "I'm not losing points because Malfoy's an insensitive jerk. We're above petty revenge."

Ron glared at her. "You may be, but I'm not." Raising his wand, he prepared to make Malfoy eat slugs. Halfway through the incantation, however, his line of sight was blocked by a rabid Pansy Parkinson.

"Draco! Draco, it's all right. We can talk about this. You don't have to suffer alone. I'll stand by you and hold your hand and be your shining light in the darkness!" Pansy was clinging to the robes of a struggling Draco, paying no mind to the flailing limbs that attempted to propel their master away from her. Draco finally managed to worm his way out of his outer robe, leaving it and his hysterical ex behind.

"As I was saying, FREEEEEEEEDOM!"

"Oh dear," said Hermione, watching a slug-puking Pansy slowly come to the realization that the robes in her clutches were now empty. "I think Malfoy just broke up with Pansy. Poor thing. I wonder what prompted him to do that."

Ron looked incredulous. "Seriously? I'm wondering what took him so long."

"He's contractually obligated to date her." Ron and Hermione turned to see Neville standing behind them, watching the proceedings with a calm, knowing air. "The Malfoys and Parkinsons drew up the betrothal agreement right after Pansy was born. Their relationship was inevitable and inescapable unless Malfoy renounced his inheritance. I'm wondering what caused him to throw his ambition and greed to the wind and seek a freedom that will no doubt incite the anger of two powerful families. They'll be back together in a week. See you at dinner, then." Neville walked off in the direction of Gryffindor tower, leaving his two friends even more bewildered than before.

* * *

Blaise finally found Draco in the astronomy tower, gazing out in wonder at the beauty of the world. "There you are. You need to get to the infirmary right away. Pansy is vomiting slugs and crying. The only word we can make out is your name. Now, be the dutiful boyfriend and go hold the rubbish bin under her face or something."

"I don't have to be the dutiful boyfriend anymore, Blaise," Draco sighed. "I'm a free man. I've broken it off with Pansy."

"You're joking," Blaise said slowly.

"No, I gave her the box and everything. She was good about it at first, but then she experienced some sort of delayed reaction. I thought it best to give her some time alone to sort things out."

Blaise stared at Draco for a long moment. "Are you insane? Why would you do that?"

"It was your idea," Draco pointed out.

"Mine?" Blaise looked panicked.

"Yes, it was at the top of my bucket list," Draco explained. "I thought I'd start with something that would be quick and result in immediate gratification. It was good thinking. Now I'll need some help with item number two."

Blaise shook his head. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around item number one. Wait. What's item number two?"

"Rebelling," said Draco. "I've heard that all teenagers do it, but I have no idea how to go about it. Where do I begin? What do I do? What do I say? What do I wear? What's my motivation?"

Blaise sighed. "Only you would make such a simple thing so complicated. Just think of what your parents want you to do and then do the opposite."

Draco brightened. "Great! I've already started then. They wanted me to marry Pansy, and I broke up with her. Now, what else can I do?"

"Let's table that one for a moment and look at item number three," Blaise suggested.

"I want a bicycle," said Draco. "A red one. First bicycles are always red."

"What on earth is a bicycle?" Blaise wanted to know.

"It's a human-powered muggle mode of transportation. You sit on it and use your legs to turn these gears that rotate the wheels and propel the whole thing forward. And it has a little bell to announce your approach, and sometimes there's a basket to put things in. I want one with a basket. Do you know any muggleborns that would help me acquire a bicycle?"

Blaise looked up into the sky for another long moment. Then he sighed and turned to Draco. "All right. Why not? We'll get you a bicycle. My life was getting dull anyway."


	4. He what?

**ZA: …**

 **Crispy: Trying to think of something witty to say?**

 **ZA: Yes.**

 **Crispy: Maybe we'd better just skip to the disclaimer.**

 **Pansy Parkinson: *sob* Blerrrrgh! *sob* Zsugami AlBlerrrgh!ba does not own Harry Potter. *sob* Or my snookiemuffin! Blerrrrrgh!**

 **Crispy: Please do try to project the slugs into the proper receptacle. *Hands Pansy a trash bin***

 **PP: Thank Blerrrrgh! you.**

 **ZA: Now I feel slightly sorry for her.**

 **Crispy: Don't worry. The spell will wear off in a couple of minutes. Really, we should've waited a bit before bringing her in.**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

Chapter 4: He what?

Professor McGonagall looked up from her stack of fifth year essays when she heard a timid knock on her door. "Come in," she called. Expecting one of her homesick first years, she was surprised to see a very nervous looking Draco Malfoy enter her office.

"Mr. Malfoy. What brings you to my office?"

"Well, um...Pro...Professor McGonagall, I was wondering if you could...help me?" Draco stammered.

"Help you with…?" McGonagall asked patiently.

"Well...see, I would like to add a class to my schedule, but I'm not quite sure how to go about it. It's a very last-minute decision."

"Ah. Well, normally a student would go to his or her own head of house for such a thing. May I ask why you did not approach Professor Snape?"

Draco stood up a little straighter and smiled winningly. "I thought you would be more reasonable. You see, the class I wish to take is a rather...unexpected choice for me."

* * *

Minerva sat next to Severus in the staff lounge. She had an unnerving smirk on her face, Severus thought. He braced himself for another round of "My quidditch team is better than yours...blahblahblah...Potter….blahblah..." and took another sip of his tea.

"You wouldn't believe who knocked on my office door today," Minerva continued. "I was expecting a first year, judging by the timidity of the knock, but it was none other than Draco Malfoy. He seemed very nervous."

Snape tried valiantly to control his coughing as his tea attempted to make a break for his lungs. "And why, pray tell, would Draco be coming to see you?"

Minerva's smirk widened into a full grin. "He wanted to add a class to his schedule."

Severus was confused. "Why would he come to you for that? I'm his head of house."

"He seemed to think I would be much more reasonable about his request," Minerva explained. "You see, the class he wanted to add was...well, I probably shouldn't betray a confidence."

"He is one of my Slytherins, and student schedules are not private," Severus argued impatiently.

"Perhaps you had better discuss it with Albus." Minerva rose from her seat and exited the staff room, leaving a very irritated Severus Snape behind her.

* * *

"Ah, Severus! What brings you to my office today?" Dumbledore asked pleasantly. "Would you care for a lemon sherbet?"

Severus ignored the offensive bowl of sweets and dove right into the topic at hand. "It has come to my attention that Draco Malfoy has applied for a change of schedule through Professor McGonagall."

"Ah, yes. A most unusual request for a Malfoy. I must say I was pleasantly surprised. Perhaps the apple falls a bit further from the tree than I'd feared."

Severus took a deep breath and counted to ten as Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, seemingly oblivious to the potion master's foul mood. "I would appreciate it if someone would please tell me what class Malfoy wishes to join. Professor McGonagall refused to say."

"Muggle Studies, Severus. Of course, it's too late to take it for credit, so he's agreed to audit the class." Ignoring the now slack jawed expression on Severus' face, Albus continued, "He will, of course, be allowed to take the OWL exam for it in the spring."

Severus' jaw audibly reunited with the rest of his skull. "This is Draco Malfoy we're discussing. He's the last person I'd expect to take an interest in muggles. Do you think he'll attempt to disrupt the class?"

"Oh no. He seemed very sincere in his desire to learn more of their culture. Admirable, really. I'm hoping he'll start a trend and other Slytherins will take interest as well."

"Sincere? This is Draco Malfoy we're discussing?"

* * *

"...So all in all, muggles are a proud, noble people with a rich, varied history and culture." Professor Burbage lectured to a room of students who displayed varying degrees of attentiveness - from Seamus Finnigan, who was adding some rather inappropriate doodles to the margins of his textbook, to Draco Malfoy, her surprise student who was currently sitting in the very center of the first row and feverishly taking notes on every word she spoke. It was quite refreshing to have such an eager student.

Suddenly, Draco's hand shot up so quickly that Professor Burbage jumped back a step, startled. "Yes, Draco?" she asked. "You have a question?"

"Well, I was looking at this photo of a group of muggles at a...concert? That's what the caption says anyway. And I was wondering what 'Pink Floyd' means." Draco stared up at Burbage with an earnest curiosity that she found rather endearing.

"Pink Floyd is a muggle musical group. Muggles use the term 'band'. They are quite talented and very popular. In fact, their album _The Wall_ is one of the most famous musical achievements in rock history."

"They play rocks as instruments?" Draco was a bit confused by this.

"No, their music is categorized in the 'rock' genre, which is an offshoot of 'rock and roll'. Like...The Weird Sisters."

"Oh. So they're boring?" Draco never saw the appeal of The Weird Sisters. And that hippogriff song was beyond disturbing.

"Oh no no! They're not boring at all. Here, I'll play a little for you. I have one of their records here somewhere." Professor Burbage rummaged around in a large file cabinet before pulling out a black record cover showing a simplistic image of a prism refracting light. "I think...yes, track 5 will do nicely."

Moments after the needle made contact with the record, Draco was enthralled. The familiar sounds of financial transactions filled his ears as a male voice sang of money, power, and temporal gratification. Professor Charity Burbage later dubbed it the "Pancake Moment" and congratulated herself on a job well done. When class ended, Draco had eagerly borrowed her entire collection of Pink Floyd records and raced to the nearest phonograph to feast on their newly discovered musical delights.

* * *

"I've got a bike

You can ride it if you like

It's got a bell and a basket and lots of things to make it look good!

I'd give it to you if I could, *but I'm using it!"

Draco happily sang his new favorite song as he pedaled his bright red bicycle through the hallways of Hogwarts, occasionally ringing the little bell on his handlebars. The crowd of students parted before him and stared after him with a mix of curiosity, shock, and amusement.

"Ahem. Ahem. Mr. Malfoy, what do you think you are doing with that bicycle?" Professor Umbridge demanded in her deceptively polite tone.

"I'm riding it to Transfiguration. If you'll please excuse me, I don't want to be late," Draco replied with a smile.

"Students are not allowed to ride bicycles in the halls," Umbridge informed him.

"Actually, I looked it up in the school handbook, and there's no rule prohibiting the use of bicycles - indoor or out," said Draco. "Besides, you do remember who my father is, don't you? I doubt he'd be pleased to learn that his only son was prevented from arriving to class on time via his favorite mode of transportation."

"Ah, yes, of course," Umbridge stammered. "Well, carry on then, Mr. Malfoy, and do give my best regards to your father."

As Draco continued on to class, Fred and George Weasley turned to each other with identical grins on their faces. "Fred, are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"I do believe I am, George, but where are we going to find propeller beanies at this time of year?"

* * *

 ***The original wording is "but I borrowed it"; however, Draco actually owns his bicycle and wishes everyone to know it.**

 **The songs mentioned in this chapter are "Money" from** _ **Dark Side of the Moon**_ **and "Bike" from** _ **The Piper at the Gates of Dawn.**_


	5. Draco's Gift

**ZA: I'm dunking my cookieeeeee...**

 **Crispy: You're singing that, you know.**

 **ZA: It's your fault. I learn by example.**

 **Crispy: Are you saying I sing what I do all the time?**

 **ZA: *looks pointedly at Crispy***

 **Crispy: True.**

 **Rowena Ravenclaw: Zsugami Alba does not own Harry Potter. I wish I did. Then I would be wealthy beyond my wildest dreams and build up the Hogwarts Library to be the most comprehensive in all the world, rivaling that of the great Alexandria!**

 **Crispy: Calm down, Rowena. It happens eventually.**

 **RR: Does it? Was it I who did it?**

 **ZA: Um...no.**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

Chapter 5: Draco's Gift

"Narcissa! Draco sent us a package," cried Lucius Malfoy as he took a seat at the breakfast table. "No, wait. It's addressed to just me. Sorry. I'm sure he still loves you, too."

Narcissa Malfoy rolled her eyes at her husband's inadvertent slight. "Yes, dear. He tells me all the time in his letters."

"You get letters?" Lucius pouted for a moment, then brightened when his eyes returned to the package in front of him. "Do you suppose it's biscuits? I do love the snickerdoodles the Hogwarts elves make. Best part of my seventh year, those biscuits." He opened the package with all the decorum that his eagerness would allow.

"Oh! There's a letter inside. It isn't very long, but I'm sure its message is heartfelt." Lucius unfolded the small bit of parchment and read, "I do desire that we may be better...strangers?" He frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Narcissa's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "Perhaps the contents of the package will explain."

"Of course. How silly of me." Lucius dug into the box, tossing aside shredded newspaper to reveal a strangely shaped tube composed of ceramic and metal. A tag attached to one end declared it to be a "spark plug". "Narcissa? What do you suppose this means? What on earth is a spark plug?"

"Isn't it one of those muggle things Arthur Weasley is always raving about?" Narcissa asked.

Lucius immediately dropped the object back into the box and performed a cleansing charm on his hands. "Narcissa, I do believe something is terribly wrong with Draco."

* * *

Lucius was still puzzling over Draco's odd gift as Lord Voldemort rambled on about blood purity, Harry Potter, and...did he just say something about pickles? Whatever. Lucius had more important things to worry about than the Dark Lord's random food cravings.

"Oh, it seems one of us has mail," Voldemort drawled.

Lucius looked up to see Draco's eagle owl swooping towards him. " _Oh no. Not here in front of the guys."_ He gulped visibly as a suspiciously red envelope floated down.

"Well, Lucius?" Voldemort addressed his mortified minion. "Aren't you going to open it? I'm sure it must be very important."

Lucius reached forth with trembling hands and broke the seal. The loud sound of drums shattered the silence moments before a male voice began wailing, "We're not gonna take it! No, we ain't gonna take it! We're not gonna take it anymoooooore!" and it didn't end there. It seemed to go on forever. The strange, clashing...music? was almost deafening. Suddenly, it stopped. All was silent once more. Lucius looked up at his master with wide eyes.

"My lord...I'm so very sorry. I don't know what's gotten into him, but my son...he seems to have...gone insane. He's been sending me the strangest packages and messages. I don't know what to do."

Voldemort looked down upon him and asked, "How old is Draco these days?"

"He's fifteen, my lord."

Voldemort smiled and nodded sagely. "Ah. That explains it. Don't worry, Lucius. It's just a phase."

"A phase, my lord?" Lucius was cautiously hopeful.

"He's rebelling. All teenagers do it at some point. Most get over it eventually. I'm sure he'll come back around soon enough. Now, Yaxley, what is this I hear about a new High Inquisitor the Ministry has sent to Hogwarts?"

* * *

Ron and Hermione stepped through the portrait into the Gryffindor common room to find a crowd of students gathered in front of the message board.

"What do you suppose is going on now?" Hermione wondered. "You don't suppose it's another educational decree, do you?"

Ron sighed and pushed his way through to the board.

 **Hogwarts is pleased to announce**

 **a new, one-man production of**

 _ **The Wizard of Oz**_

 **to be performed by**

 **Draco Malfoy**

 **in the Great Hall this coming Tuesday**

 **Admission is free to all**

"The Wizard of Oz?" Ron muttered. "What is that?"

Hermione looked utterly bewildered. "It's a muggle musical about an American girl who is magically transported to the Land of Oz by a tornado."

"Musical?" Ron looked dubious. "Draco Malfoy is going to sing?"

"And dance, apparently," Hermione added. "Things seem to be getting worse."

"I'll say," agreed Ron. "He's really gone round the bend, hasn't he?"

* * *

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Witches and Wizards! Students and Staff! Presenting the talented, enigmatic Draco Malfoy of Slytherin House!" Professor Burbage announced with a wide sweep of her arm.

" _Dear Merlin,"_ thought Snape. " _Don't tell me he's doing this as a representative of our house. Minerva will never let me live this down."_

Draco approached center stage to greet the smattering of hesitant applause from his curious audience.

"Long, long ago in a faraway land, there was a girl who lived in a world without color. Her only friend was her faithful dog, little Toto. When her dreary world pressed in around her, she would sit upon a haystack and sing...Somewhere over the rainbooooooow, bluebirds flyyyyyy…."

Even the twins stood speechless as Malfoy proceeded to entertain the spectators with thirty minutes of song and dance, complete with changes in costume and vocal register and second rate special effects. The Slytherin assumed the role of each character with a painful earnestness that brought tears to many an eye. Some, such as Professor Burbage, shed tears of pride. Most others turned various shades of red as they shed tears of silent laughter.

"And you were there...and you were there...and you were there! And some of it was frightening, but most of it was beautiful! Oh, but it's so good to be home. There's no place like home!" Draco gazed up at what was probably an invisible rainbow, waiting for the applause. A few seconds later, Professor Burbage began clapping and shouting, "Bravo! Bravo, Draco!" Scattered pockets of students and staff joined in the applause. Blaise Zabini took out a quill and crossed another item off of The List.

* * *

 **ZA: The howler Draco sends Lucius is a recording of Twisted Sister's "We're Not Gonna Take It".**

 **Crispy: We thought it apt.**


	6. Guess Who's on the Front Page?

**ZA: I'm so glad I dragged you away from your YouTube black hole, mother dear.**

 **Crispy: If it was a black hole, how did you drag me away? Can you defy the gravity of a black hole?**

 **ZA: Tardis.**

 **Crispy: Touché.**

 **ZA: That was quite an adventure.**

 **Crispy: Who knew it would take so long to find an accented e.**

 **Severus Snape: I don't see why I should help you with this, considering what you've forced upon me in this chapter.**

 **Crispy: We could extend the pain to two chapters.**

 **SS: Zsugami Alba does not own Harry Potter. Thank Merlin.**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

Chapter 6: Guess Who's on the Front Page?

 **Malfoy Heir Performs One-Man Rendition of Muggle Musical**

by Rita Skeeter

This last Tuesday, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry hosted an interpretation of a musical play based on L. Frank Baum's book: _The Wizard of Oz_ , a muggle story. The actor: Draco Malfoy, son of prominent, pureblood lobbyist Lucius Malfoy.

Draco, a well-mannered, handsome, young man, is a member of Slytherin House and a role model for its younger students. "Everyone looks up to him. He's the Prince of Slytherin," says longtime girlfriend Pansy Parkinson. She also adds: "Not to mention he's quite wealthy and comes from an influential family."

Sources tell this reporter that Draco has been behaving oddly these past few months. Some say it is due to his torrid on again off again relationship with Miss Parkinson. Others say he has been deeply affected by the loss of a close friend and ally, Harry Potter. "Harry was the yin to Draco's yang," says Gryffindor fifth year Hermione Granger. "He's lost without Harry. He's trying to reinvent himself. Like Madonna."

Whatever the reason, Draco has seemingly turned over a new leaf and is now championing the muggle cause. He has recently enrolled himself in Muggle Studies and has purchased a bicycle, an odd muggle mode of self propelled transportation. "He's really embraced their culture and beliefs," says Muggle Studies Professor Charity Burbage. "I've never been more proud of any of my students. He's bound to be the leader of a new age in Wizard/Muggle relations."

Draco's latest foray into muggle culture includes last Tuesday's dramatic production. He played every role, complete with costume changes aided by charmed hats and changes in vocal register. "His ability to assume the voices of the various characters, male, female, and animal, was quite astonishing," raves current Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. "I was thoroughly entertained."

Most agree that the highlight of the show was Draco's performance of the tragic melting of the Wicked Witch of the West. His cries of "I'm melting! I'm melting! What a world!" brought tears to everyone's eyes. Even Professor Severus Snape, head of Slytherin House, was not unaffected. Photos on page 4.

What else does this new Draco Malfoy have in store for the wizarding world? Only time will tell.

Lucius Malfoy was unavailable for comment.

* * *

The floo in Severus' quarters flared to life just before a disheveled figure tumbled out onto the rug at Severus' feet with the muted sound of shattering glass. The stench of various alcoholic beverages wafted toward the Potions Master's nose, and he set down his cup of tea with impatient disgust. Kicking the prone form over, he discovered his uninvited guest was none other than Lucius Malfoy. " _Not again,"_ thought Severus. " _He hasn't been this pathetic since lace cuffs went out of style."_

"Let me guess. You've seen today's Prophet," He drawled at the moaning form at his feet.

"Sevvy!" Lucius exclaimed in a drunken slur. "What are you doing at the Hog's Head? At this time of day?" He gestured at the room with the top half of a broken fire whiskey bottle.

"This is not the Hog's Head. It's my private quarters, and I was in the middle of enjoying a free period before having to endure another Slytherin/Gryffindor double potions class," complained Severus.

Lucius looked blearily around the room. "Not the Hog's Head? I must have taken a wrong turn at Aberdeen." He shrugged. "Do you have any fire whiskey? I seem to have run out," Lucius asked as he suddenly noticed the broken bottle in his hand. "Oh! No, wait! I've another in my boot!" He triumphantly wrestled a full bottle of Ogden's Finest out of his left boot. "Look, Sevvy! I'm a bootlegger! That's a muggle term, you know. They smuggled alcohol in their boots. I learned that today from an interesting muggle chap I met at...where was I?"

As his inebriated friend pondered his recent whereabouts, Severus took the bottle from his grasp and declared, "I think you've had quite enough of that."

Lucius pouted a moment before suddenly grinning and pulling another bottle from his boot. "Tha's all right. I've another one here! I put an expansion charm on my boot. It makes walking a bit difficult, but that's a small price to pay for a guaranteed supply."

Severus took out his wand and proceeded to summon all the bottles from Lucius' footwear. He then called out, "Tippy!" A loud crack sounded as a particularly tiny house elf popped into view and bowed before the two men. "Tippy," said Severus, handing several bottles to the elf, "Please dispose of these and bring Mr. Malfoy a fresh pot of tea. Earl Grey, perhaps, and make it extra strong." The elf snapped her fingers, vanishing the bottles before disappearing to the kitchens.

Severus turned again to address Lucius in his most patient tone. "Now, Lucius, you can't do this to yourself. What would Narcissa say?"

"She kicked me out of the manor," moaned Lucius, "after I broke into her stash. I was forced to relocate to the Leaky Cauldron. A few hours later, that Tom fellow kicked me out the wrong door and I wound up in muggle London. They have a lot more pubs there. Did you know that? And their selection of alcohol is astounding."

"Really."

"Oh, Sevvy. What am I to do? He's lost to me!" Lucius burst into tears.

"I thought the Dark Lord assured you that Draco -"

"Not Draco! Dobby! I can't find him anywhere, and he isn't answering my summons," wailed Lucius. "He made the best biscuits. Just like Hogwarts. I miss Hogwarts. Oh, look! Here I am!"

"Yes, yes," muttered Severus as the elf popped back into the room with a tray of tea and snickerdoodles. Severus handed one of the biscuits to Lucius and guided him to sit in one of the chairs.

"Just what I was wanting. It's like magic. I like magic, Severus. Did you know that?"

Thankful that Lucius had finally sobered up enough to stop calling him 'Sevvy', the reluctant host poured two cups of tea. Deciding to ignore the whole Dobby issue, he tried again to redirect Lucius to the matter at hand. "I assure you Draco is simply going through a phase. All teenagers rebel at some point. It's perfectly normal and expected."

"But we had a bond! An unbreakable father/son bond that nothing could tear asunder. Nothing but...adolescence. " Lucius spat out the last word as if it were a bug that had accidentally flown into his mouth.

Severus continued, "Might I remind you that adolescence is temporary?"

"Are you sure?" Lucius gazed up at him hopefully. "Because I found out what his letter meant."

"What letter?" asked Severus.

"He sent me a letter and a spark plug," Lucius explained. "He desired 'that we might be better strangers.' I don't want to be a stranger. I'm not strange. Am I strange, Severus?"

Fortunately, Lucius did not notice Severus' hesitation. "Of course not, Lucius. You're the very image of a stable, pureblooded wizard."

"I should talk to him," Lucius declared. "I should assure him that I still love him and that we'll get through this trial together." He stumbled to his feet and swayed there for a few moments before his left leg sunk into its boot up to the knee. "I seem to have accidentally put on Crabbe's left boot."

Severus rolled his eyes and waved his wand at the offending item. "Finite." the sudden canceling of Lucius' expansion charm pushed his left foot upwards, launching him to the right.

"What was that?" he cried from his position on the floor.

"Never mind that," Severus instructed. "I believe it would be in your best interest to stay here and sleep it off. I'll summon Tippy to keep an eye on you. Drink your tea and then have a lie down on that couch over there."

* * *

The Gryffindor and Slytherin first years were in the midst of brewing a cure for boils when the door burst open, slamming against the wall before rebounding and hitting the blonde intruder in the face. Holding his nose, Lucius moaned, "My nose! My beautiful nose. Is it bleeding, Sevvy?" He was drunk. Again. " _Where in blazes is that Tippy?"_ thought Severus.

"I heard voices," said Lucius. "Is Draco here? I need to speak with him. It's very important. Draco? Where are you, Draco? Daddy's here."

Severus rushed to Lucius and took hold of his arm. Steering the newly inebriated man towards the door, he addressed his class. "Never mind Mr. Malfoy. He's run afoul of a hex. Mr. Rogers, escort Mr. Malfoy to the infirmary," he ordered. The first year Slytherin hurried to comply, and Severus' class resumed.

* * *

Madame Pomfrey eyed her two visitors, mainly the taller one. "And what have we here?"

"He stumbled into Potions class, Madame Pomfrey," Rogers explained. "Professor Snape said he's run afoul of a hex and instructed me to bring him here."

"Run afoul of a whiskey bottle more like," muttered the healer.

"I was outnumbered," Lucius offered helpfully.

"And I'm sure you endeavored to defeat them all," Pomfrey nodded with feigned sympathy.

"I did, but Sevvy took some of them away, and I think I broke one in the floo," Lucius said sadly.

* * *

"Draco, your father's in the infirmary," Blaise informed Draco at lunch. "You should check on him. Apparently, he encountered some rogue whiskey bottles that got the better of him."

Draco looked mildly shocked. "What happened? Did walking sticks go out of style?"

Blaise looked pointedly at Draco for a long moment until Draco remembered. "Oh, right. The Daily Prophet article. I suppose he objected to the green face paint."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Of course. That must be it."


	7. Full Circle

**ZA: Obey the Overshirt!**

 **Crispy: *to readers* Trust me: you don't want to know.**

 **ZA: *evil laugh*!**

 **Crispy: Are you done?**

 **ZA: For now. Who should do the disclaimer this chapter?**

 **Crispy: I'll check the schedule…**

 **ZA: …**

 **Crispy: …**

 **ZA: We don't have a schedule, do we?**

 **Crispy: Of course not. What do you think we are? Organized?**

 **ZA: Oh! I know!**

 **David Gilmour: Zsugami Alba does not own Harry Potter. Or Pink Floyd.**

 **Draco: DAVID GILMOUR! OMIGOSH! DAVID GILMOUR! I'M YOUR BIGGEST FAN I LOVE YOUR MUSIC! AAAAHHHH! I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M TALKING TO DAVID GILMOUR! QUICK! SOMEONE TAKE A PICTURE! DAVID GILMOUR! Wait, where are you going? David?**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

Chapter 7: Full Circle

"Mail's here," said Blaise as hundreds of owls swooped into the Great Hall, depositing packages next to the platters of bacon and eggs. Draco looked up to see his own eagle owl coming to land at his side with a flat, rectangular package tied to its leg.

"It's from Mother," said Draco. "I wonder what it is." He tore the wrapping off to reveal an old, small, handbound book. The silver lettering on the green leather cover declared it to be:

 **Uncle Sal's Bedtime Stories for Sleepy Little Slytherins**

Blaise peered at it over Draco's shoulder. "Is that a children's book?"

Draco ignored him and opened it to the title page where there was a faded inscription:

 _ **For my favorite student, Mordred Malfoy**_

"Who's Mordred?" asked Blaise.

"He's an ancestor of mine. He invented the Bat Bogey Hex," explained Draco. "I thought I'd lost this book ages ago. I wonder if Sal's still in it." He turned a few pages until one of the illustrations waved at him.

"Draco! I'm being chased by those Death Eaters from page twelve again! Quick! Freeze them!" cried the obviously exhausted man.

Draco waved his wand at the three tiny figures in the background, and they stilled immediately.

"Uncle Sal! It's been so long!" Draco greeted his friend happily.

"My, you look quite a bit older now. How long has it been?" Uncle Sal looked around from his position on the page. "Is that the ceiling of the Great Hall? That...cloud looks familiar."

Draco looked a bit sheepish. "Yes, I'm in my fifth year now at Hogwarts."

Uncle Sal nodded. "Slytherin, I expect."

"Of course, Uncle Sal," said Draco. "Couldn't be anything else, could I?"

"Yes, you are too much like Mordred to wind up anywhere else. Although you were most like him when you were five. It took him longer to grow out of his baby fat."

Blaise leaned in a bit closer. "Is that your ancestor's uncle?"

Sal laughed. "Oh no. I was his teacher. Cute little fellow, that Mordred. Smart as a whip, too." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Hmm...your fifth year, you say? Anything...interesting happen yet?"

Blaise snorted, rolled his eyes and returned to his toast and marmalade.

"Well, at first I thought I was going to die because I killed Harry Potter," started Draco.

"There's no evidence that Potter is dead," Blaise pointed out. "Nor is there any evidence that you're responsible."

"Yes, well...but everything got so much better after that," Draco continued.

"Because this Potter boy is gone?" Sal asked. "That's not very nice, Draco."

"No!" Draco hurried to correct his friend. "I meant that...well, in my attempt to enjoy what little time I have left, I started a bucket list. First, I broke up with Pansy."

"That little pugnosed girl that used to drag you around everywhere?" asked Sal.

"Yes. I gave her a breakup box and everything."

"Well done," said Sal. "You're much too good for her, you know."

"Yes, and then I got a bicycle!"

"Is it green?"

Draco frowned. "No, of course not. First bicycles are always red."

"Oh, of course. How silly of me," nodded Sal. "What else have you done?"

"He's rebelling," interjected Blaise, who was daintily licking a spot of marmalade off his thumb. He nudged Draco with his elbow. "Tell him about the rebelling."

"Right," said Draco. "Blaise said that all teenagers rebel, and all I have to do is think of what Father likes and then do the opposite."

Sal raised his eyebrows. "So you've taken to wearing horizontal stripes?"

"Don't be daft, Sal. I've enrolled in Muggle Studies," said Draco.

"Excellent!" cried Sal. "That will prove very useful in life, I'm sure. Muggles are quite handy, you know."

Draco grinned. "And they have excellent taste in music! Look! There's a band called 'Queen' and they've got t-shirts!" He opened the front of his robes to show off a white t-shirt with a black and white photo on it.

"It says 'Freddie' there," Sal pointed out.

"He's the lead singer," Draco declared proudly. "Do you like the shirt? One of the Hufflepuffs in my Muggle Studies class gave me a catalog for a muggle store that sells these and lots of other muggle stuff. I have a dozen so far!"

Sal looked amused. "Sounds like you're enjoying yourself."

Blaise leaned over again. "You have no idea."

* * *

"Instructions are on the board," droned Professor Snape. "Begin."

"Psst! Draco. Don't forget the saffron." The muffled whisper came from Draco's book bag as he and Blaise were dividing up the ingredients list.

Draco frowned. "There's no saffron on the list."

"He did say you were brewing the Sharp Wit Potion, didn't he?" the voice replied. "Without the saffron, it's just the Elixir of Semi-Intelligence."

Draco looked at Blaise who simply shrugged and went back to the supply cupboard for saffron.

When the brewing was completed, with some helpful suggestions from Uncle Sal, Professor Snape studied their cauldron with a furrowed brow. "Did you add saffron to your potion?" he asked the boys.

Draco looked to Blaise, who was making a very obvious show of cleaning up the remainder of their ingredients. He turned back to Snape. "Uh...yes?"

"Hmm. Well done. See me after class."

Blaise nudged Draco. "Could we still be in trouble for doing something right?"

Draco shrugged. "Don't know. I suppose we'll find out."

* * *

Draco and Blaise approached Snape's desk as the rest of the class filed out. They stood there uncomfortably for a moment as the professor leveled his gaze at the two nervous students before him.

"How did you know?" Snape asked.

Draco looked at Blaise, who was showing a sudden, keen interest in his own fingernails. Deciding there would be no help from that quarter, he squared his shoulders and faced his head of house. "Well, you are always encouraging us to research a potion through multiple sources. The addition of saffron was listed in another text."

"And that text would be?" prompted Snape.

Draco took a moment to clear his throat, but Blaise was the first to cave. "Uncle Sal's Bedtime Stories for Sleepy Little Slytherins. Sir."

Snape actually looked dumbfounded for half a second before schooling his face back into its usual intimidating expression. "I don't believe that volume is available in the Hogwarts Library. I've certainly never heard of a potions master named...Uncle Sal." He pronounced the name with a derisive sneer.

Draco looked at Blaise again, but the latter had apparently remembered what about his fingernails was so interesting. He sighed, "It's a children's book from the Malfoy library. Mother sent it to me this morning. There's a portrait of the author inside, and he knows a lot about potions."

"Do you mean to tell me that you altered the approved recipe on the advice of a doodle?" Snape was incredulous.

"I happen to be a very well done doodle, thank you very much!" came the voice of Sal from the depths of Draco's bag.

Snape shifted his gaze meaningfully to Draco's bag, and Draco dutifully withdrew the book and presented it to the professor. "Page 3. At least, that's where he usually is. He says it has the best view."

Snape opened the book to page 3 to find a sketch of a small cottage beneath the title: " _ **The Beekeeper and His Wife**_ ". The background showed an apiary surrounded by a field of wildflowers. There was no Uncle Sal. Snape looked back at Draco.

Draco shrugged. "Perhaps he's visiting another story. Ask the bee."

Snape looked back at the book. A tiny dot in the field grew larger as it approached the foreground and soon became recognizable as a bumblebee...with a beard. "I suppose I am to ask you where I may find Uncle Sal?" Snape asked it.

"Why certainly, my dear man," buzzed the bee as it hovered in the center of the page. "You may ask me, but I may not know; however, you will never learn if you do not ask." Was it even possible for a bumblebee's eyes to twinkle? ' _No, it must be a trick of the light_ ,' thought Snape.

"Where is Uncle Sal? I wish to speak with him."

"Wish? Well, I generally grant three to a person, but I suppose there's no minimum limit. Very well then. Sal is currently hiding in the shrubbery on page twenty-seven. Those three masked gentlemen have become unfrozen and resumed chasing him again. Luckily, that absurd group of knights is delaying their quest with ridiculous tasks."

Snape turned to page twenty-seven. A wizard in late tenth century clothing was peering out from behind a small hedge surrounded by a white picket fence. The laurels seemed particularly nice. "Are you Uncle Sal?" Snape inquired.

The wizard stepped out from behind the shrubbery and straightened his robes. "Not your Uncle Sal, certainly, but I am Sal. What can I do for you?"

"What makes you qualified to instruct my students in the art of potions brewing?" Snape wanted to know.

"I should think that over twenty years as Hogwarts' Potions Master would suffice," Sal replied rather smugly. "Trust me, I've seen things of which even your wildest imagination couldn't conceive. Teaching Potions is not for the faint of heart, as you well know. Nor should it be attempted by anyone who finds the mere presence of children distasteful." He frowned at Snape as though accusing him of Snape knew not what.

"I should think that, after more than 20 years of teaching experience, you would know that the addition of saffron can make the Sharp Wit Potion particularly volatile in the third stage of brewing. It is much safer for less experienced brewers to omit that ingredient." Snape pointed out.

Sal did not look satisfied. "Then why refer to it as the Sharp Wit Potion? Without the saffron, it is merely the Elixir of Semi-Intelligence. Students will not understand the difference. You're encouraging their ignorance."

Snape smirked. "I suppose, but it is amusing to watch the less scrupulous Ravenclaws who attempt to use the potion to improve their test scores."

Sal looked taken aback for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Ha! I imagine they stumble around, looking at all the pretty colors!"

Snape nodded, still smirking. "Yes, like hippies on acid trips."

Draco and Blaise were thoroughly confused, and Blaise decided he didn't like that. "I don't understand," he complained.

"Well, you see, Blaise," Sal began, "The Elixir of Semi-Intelligence adjusts the drinker's brain capacity to average. For some, this is a blessing. For example, the village idiot can actually count to ten. For others of tremendous intelligence, however, brain capacity is diminished. They process information at a much slower rate. They view the world as if they are in slow motion while the world simply continues on at normal speed. It can be both mesmerizing and disconcerting."

Blaise and Draco both looked up at Snape with a newfound respect. "Brilliant, Professor!" said Draco.

"I stand in awe," said Blaise.

"I always wanted to try it on Rowena," said Sal, "But she was much too clever for me. Wouldn't drink or eat anything I gave her."

"Rowena?" Snape raised one eyebrow at the diminutive doodle. "You wouldn't be referring to Rowena Ravenclaw, would you?"

Sal froze for half a moment before responding, "Who?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "You can't teach Potions at Hogwarts for twenty days, let alone twenty years, without knowing the name of the founder of Ravenclaw House."

Draco started to catch on. "Uncle Sal! You knew Rowena Ravenclaw? That means that you're THE Sa-"

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco! How could I possibly know someone who's been dead for nearly 1,000 years?" Sal argued.

"You've been dead nearly 1,000 years," said Blaise.

"Dead?" asked Sal. "I'm not dead. I'm just...missing. Yes, I'm missing...my...chamber pot! Where is it? I could have sworn I'd left it on my head, but it must have fallen off when those...hooligans were chasing me. Yes, that's it. I'd better go look for it." With that, Uncle Sal ran off into the forest.

Blaise looked at Snape, then at Draco, then back at the book. "If that's Salazar Slytherin, I vote we never share this book with anyone else ever."

"Agreed," said Draco and Snape simultaneously.

* * *

Harry looked around the second floor girls' bathroom. It seemed different somehow. Perhaps, knowing what he now knew, that was to be expected. He approached the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. " _Yep, still here_." Suddenly he heard voices approaching.

"Hermione, I know you miss Harry. We all miss Harry, but don't you think this Important Moments in the Life of Harry Potter Tour is going a bit overboard? We don't know that he's never coming back."

"Ronald, it isn't a tour; it's a remembrance - a revisiting of strong, happy memories. It helps me cope."

The bathroom door swung open just as Ron said, "I'm not quite sure that you turning into a cat is a particularly happy memory. Or the part where Harry and I had to drink Eau de Crabbe and Goyle."

"You're quite right, Ron," Harry agreed. "That was disgusting. It was more like a memory I've tried to block out."

"Harry!" cried Ron and Hermione. "You're back!"

Harry found himself with an armful of Hermione and a faceful of her bushy hair. "Oh, Harry! I've missed you so much! You've no idea what it was like!"

"Aren't you overreacting, Hermione? I've just been in the loo. Sorry I left without saying anything, but it was rather urgent, if you know what I mean."

Ron looked at Harry incredulously. "Are you trying to tell us you've been in the second floor girls' loo for two months?"

"Two months?" Harry was thrown for a loop. Obviously he'd miscalculated a bit when designing the spell array. "Er...my bladder was really full. And there were other complications which led me to believe I'd be better off using a bathroom that no one else frequented. Odors, you know." He waved his hand about as if to dispel a foul smell.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. "There's no need to be vulgar, Harry, and you're a terrible liar."

"Yes, I am a terrible liar," said Harry. "But it was really bad. I think I was dealing with a mild case of dysentery."

Hermione rolled her eyes with an exasperated sigh. "Harry James Potter, if you had been struggling with dysentery for two months with no medical aid, you'd be dead by now. Where have you been."

Harry's shoulders sagged. "Have you ever heard of the Predestination Paradox?" he asked.

Hermione looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure I'm familiar with that one."

"Let's say that a man travels back in time to discover the cause of a famous fire. While in the building where the fire started, he accidentally knocks over a kerosene lantern and causes a fire - the same fire that would, years later, inspire him to travel back in time."

Ron looked confused. "You went back in time and started a fire?"

Harry looked sheepish. "Multiple fires, actually, but nothing important. Actually, I'm referring to something else."

Harry could practically see the light bulb go on over Hermione's head. "It's a paradox where, as a result of time travel, information or objects would appear to have no beginning. That's really intelligent, Harry! But where - I mean when did you go, and what did you do?"

"I'd tell you, but...then the universe might implode, or something," Harry tried to dodge the question.

"But your return would have closed the loop," Hermione argued. "You can't change history by talking about it in the future."

Ron still looked confused. "Could we stop speaking in hypotheticals and actually talk about what really happened?"

Harry cleared his throat. "If it weren't for me, Gryffindor's house mascot would be a puffskein. Or perhaps a baby harp seal. Or a butterfly. Godric couldn't really make up his mind. All he knew was that he didn't want a lion."

"You went to the time of the Founders?" Hermione was practically vibrating with excitement.

"A baby harp seal?!" Ron exclaimed in disgust. "We'd be the laughingstock of the school. Who'd be in the house of the baby harp seal? Slytherins would be roaming the halls, wielding clubs."

"What a horrible thought, Ron! Really, must you go there?" Hermione complained.

"That's what I told him," said Harry. "And then he was distracted by a rabbit, so I made the decision for him."

"Is that all you did?" asked Ron. "Please tell me you at least hexed Slytherin while you were there."

Hermione looked appalled. "Ron! That would've risked changing the timeline! Regardless of your personal opinion of the man, he did help found Hogwarts and is an important figure in our history."

"No, Ron," said Harry. "I didn't manage to hex Salazar Slytherin. That would've been rather painful for me."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I imagine so. He was considered to be a very powerful wizard. You were right to play it safe, Harry."

"Besides," continued Harry. "Helga hexed him enough for the both of us. Actually, she hexed rather indiscriminately. She's no respecter of persons, that one."

Ron looked mildly impressed. "She sounds a lot more interesting than the history books would lead us to believe."

"When have you read any history books, Ronald?" asked Hermione.

"Well, I don't really need to," he replied. "You just quote them at us."

Hermione turned back to Harry. "We'd better get you to the infirmary."

"What on earth for?" asked Harry. "I feel fine. You know I don't actually have dysentery."

"Yes, but there are countless other things in the past that could have affected your health," Hermione pointed out. "It's best we have Madame Pomfrey check you over right away. We don't want to take any chances."

"Does that mean you're canceling the Harry Tour?" asked Harry.

"Oh, shut up," muttered Hermione as she grabbed Harry's arm and dragged him out of the bathroom. Ron followed, grinning.

* * *

"Oh, my poor Snookimuffin," Pansy crooned in what Draco was now calling her Terminator voice. He'd discovered that it was really frighteningly accurate after he'd viewed the first two movies. Although, the thought of Arnold Schwarzenegger calling anyone "snookimuffin" was rather silly. Draco was overcome with a sudden urge to giggle, but his head hurt enough that he was able to ignore the impulse.

"Pansy," he patiently stated for the umpteenth time, "I'm not your anything anymore. We're over. Old news. Like Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston."

"I don't know who you're talking about, but they aren't us, Draco. We're...eternal. Our love will never die!"

"I never loved you in the first place," admitted Draco. "I was just going along with what my parents wanted. Now that I'm rebelling, I don't have to see you anymore. I don't want to waste what little time I have left on a sham of a relationship."

"Oh, I see what you're doing," Pansy declared. "You're trying to push me away so that I won't hurt as much when you're gone. Well, it won't work, Draco. Together or not, I'll always love you, and a part of me will die with you!"

Draco rolled his eyes and heaved an exasperated sigh. "My head is really hurting, Pansy. Be a dear and leave me to rest in peace and quiet for a bit."

"Of course, Draco dear," said Pansy. She walked reluctantly to the infirmary doors, turning back as she opened them. "I'll be back, Snookimuffin."

Suddenly, Draco heard a familiar voice drift towards him as he closed his eyes to shut out the disturbing image of Pansy's sultry gaze.

"When did Pansy turn into the Terminator?"

Draco's eyes popped open. "Potter!" he cried. He jumped out of bed and ran toward the owner of the voice, tackling Harry to the ground. "You're alive! I knew I was too pretty to die! I knew it! Now I won't have to choose between wearing white after Labor Day or burning naked for all of eternity!" he sobbed as he clutched Harry's robes.

Harry looked even more disturbed than he had when he'd heard Pansy speaking with Schwarzenegger's voice. He looked up at Ron and Hermione and tried to ignore the fact that Draco was getting snot all over his Gryffindor badge. "What happened to Malfoy?"

"I missed you!" Draco wailed. "You were like the...the…"

"Yin to your yang?" offered Hermione.

"Yes!" said Draco. "Like the Dumbledore to my Grindelwald!"

Hermione shot a glance at Ron before saying, "I don't think that's quite the analogy you're looking for, Draco. Perhaps something a bit more...platonic?"

Draco stopped sobbing and sat up with a frown. "Hmm...yes, I suppose you're right. Um...how about Captain America and Iron Man? Captain America is the goody-goody in the tights, and Iron Man is the rich one with the cool suit, right?"

"Yes, Draco," Hermione agreed. "That's much better."

"Um…," said Harry from the floor, "Could someone get Malfoy off of me and tell me what's going on?"

Ron gave him a hand up and shrugged. "That could take a while, mate."

"Give me the abbreviated version," suggested Harry.

"All right. Malfoy's Madonna now," said Ron with a nod at the Slytherin.

Harry looked at Hermione. "Perhaps you could come up with something a little less cryptic?"

Hermione smiled. "A lot of things have changed since you disappeared. Draco is one of the bigger changes."


	8. Sassy

**ZA: This is going to be silly, isn't it?**

 **Crispy: What gives you that idea?**

 **ZA: Just a feeling.**

 **Rita Skeeter: Zsugami Alba sighs and shakes her head sadly as she begins. "I grew up in a poor household with no access to books of any kind. I've come so far since then, but sadly, all is for naught. I do not own Harry Potter." she reaches out as if to grasp something. Perhaps the green light at the other end of the bay. What? I don't know what you mean. Oh, all right. Neither Zsugami Alba nor I own** _ **The Great Gatsby**_ **.**

 **Crispy: Next time, we'd better confiscate that blasted quill. That was revolting.**

 **ZA: I know.**

 **Crispy: Just for the record, Zsugami grew up with a ton of books and frequent trips to the library. Also, we don't consider ourselves to be all that poor. How could we be with all those books?**

 **ZA: True.**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

 _ **Excerpts from The Book (No, not that one. The fictional one we'll be introducing in this chapter.)**_

Chapter 8: Sassy

"Harry! Ron! Look at this!" Hermione shouted as she shoved the latest edition of The Daily Prophet in their faces. "The first page is a book review! There's a new book! A new book! A very important historical document!"

Ron shoved the paper away. "Calm down, Hermione. You're drowning a photo of Gwenog Jones in my cereal bowl. She's getting all blurry and panicked."

Hermione snatched the paper back. "Oh! Sorry. It's just such exciting news!"

Ron picked a soggy bit of newsprint out of his bowl and resumed eating his Pixie Puffs. "What's so exciting about a book? This is a bit much even for you."

"It's _Hogwarts: An Unabridged History_!" Hermione exclaimed.

Harry set down his pumpkin juice and looked at her. "You've already read that one, Hermione. You've been quoting it to us since the day we met."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Harry. That was _Hogwarts: A History_. This is a new unabridged version. It's got loads of extra information and stories from the journals of Salazar Slytherin himself!"

Ron didn't even bother pausing between bites as he said, "So basically it's got extra pureblood propaganda in it? Why would you want to read that nonsense?"

"But look at the review, Ronald. It says, 'Salazar's commentary is witty and insightful. Not something you'd expect from the founder of Slytherin House.'"

"Hey! That's more than a little insulting!" objected Draco as he passed by their table. "Take that back, Granger!"

Hermione sighed. "I'm merely quoting the article, Draco. I'm not saying Slytherins can't be witty or insightful."

Draco sniffed, mollified, and continued on to the Slytherin Table. Harry plucked the paper out of Hermione's hands. "Oh, of course. I should have known the review was written by Skeeter. The book's probably terrible."

Hermione looked appalled. "Really, Harry. You can't judge a book by the author of its review."

"Maybe not, but you can judge a book review by its author," Harry pointed out.

"I'm with Harry," Ron mumbled around a mouthful of bacon. "I didn't even want to read the first one. Why should I care about the second?"

Hermione gave both boys a dirty look, grabbed the newspaper and her bag, and left them both to finish their meal without her charming company.

* * *

"All right, Ron," Hermione announced the next night in the common room. "I've gotten the book through owl order. Now you're going to sit there while I read it to you." She planted herself next to him on the sofa, cleared her throat, and opened an alarmingly large book with a photo of Hogwarts on the cover.

Ron gulped audibly and turned to Harry with a "help me!" look on his face. Harry just smiled and studied the chess board. "Maybe with her distracting you I'll have a chance."

"Traitor," Ron muttered as he settled in for the long haul. " _Surely she won't read it all in one night?"_

 _ **Chapter One: Sassy**_

"Sassy? That's a ridiculous title for a chapter," complained Ron. "What's that supposed to be about?"

Hermione sighed. "You'd find out if you wouldn't interrupt me." She cleared her throat and continued.

 _ **The first time I met Godric, he had just been let go from his apprenticeship with a hatmaker. He was sitting in the muddy street, clutching a hideous bit of leather as if it were his only friend in the world. I, of course, being a good Samaritan, asked him if he needed any help. He responded by throwing himself at me and sobbing into my robes.**_

" _ **He doesn't like Sassafras!" the poor man cried.**_

" _ **Did you put it in his tea?" I asked, not even bothering to find out who "he" was. It seemed like it was going to be a long story, and I'd probably find out soon enough anyway.**_

" _ **What? I would never put Sassafras in his tea. Sassafras is my pride and joy!" At this, he thrust the bit of leather at me, revealing it to be a rather odd looking, badly made hat.**_

" _ **You must be Nigel's new apprentice. I'd heard he was having difficulties with his new hire. What on earth possessed you to name a hat Sassafras?"**_

" _ **He's my baby. I've made him with my own hands and my own bit of leather and shaped him to my own head. I've even given him life! Speak to our new friend, Sassafras. Go on." He held the hat up again, and I noticed it's front resembled a face. Then a slit opened up and spoke.**_

" _ **Behold! I am Sassafras the Magnificent! Created by Godric Gryffindor from his own pocket money! I shall woo his women and bring him many lovely admirers!"**_

"What?" cried Ron. "Are we supposed to believe that the sorting hat was created to be a chick magnet?"

"Well, it does have a rather nice singing voice," Harry offered. "Check, by the way." Ron looked at the board in shock before moving his knight and taking out Harry's offending pawn.

"If you two are finished interrupting…?" Hermione said impatiently.

 _ **At that moment, I found myself at a loss for words. This was a man who clearly needed guidance - someone to watch his back and keep him out of the trouble he would undoubtedly fall into if left to his own devices. I suggested shortening Sassafras' name to Sassy, and we were instant friends forevermore.**_

 _ **Some may find it strange that two such different men should come to meet over the matter of a misshapen hat, but I wasn't the only one that Sassy brought into Godric's life. In fact, if it weren't for Sassy, Hogwarts would never have been built.**_

 _ **Over the course of our friendship, it became apparent that Godric really did need help in wooing women. Unfortunately, so did Sassy. You see, Sassy gained most of his knowledge and personality from the head of his wearer. Thus, he was a lot like Godric, only without any shame. I can't even begin to number the times poor Godric was slapped because Sassy whistled at the wrong bonnet, but our lives did change dramatically when one of those slaps was delivered by none other than Helga Hufflepuff.**_

 _ **Helga had been traveling in the company of her dear friend Rowena Ravenclaw when Godric and Sassy accosted them on the street with a "Hello, Ladies!" and a wolf whistle. Fortunately, I was there to smooth things over before Godric lost some very vital parts of his person. I even managed to convince Helga and Rowena to join us for lunch. Halfway through the meal, the conversation turned to the lack of proper education for magical children. By the end of the meal, we'd begun fleshing out the idea of a school while Godric nursed his broken (for the second time) nose. I believe that was also the day that Godric Gryffindor fell hopelessly in love with Helga Hufflepuff. Poor chap. She did eventually take a liking to his cap, though.**_

Hermione closed the book and looked up at her two friends expectantly. "So? What did you think?"

Ron frowned. "I'm not sure I believe that Godric Gryffindor was such an idiot. I mean, he did help found Hogwarts, and he's rather handsome in his portraits. I always thought he would have been the supreme ladies man."

Harry snickered. "Oh, he thought he was quite the ladies man. Helga wasn't interested, though. The harder he tried, the harder she punched. He used to call them 'love taps' and insisted they were proof of her secret affection."

"That's so sweet!" said Hermione with one of those sappy faces girls often get when discussing romance novels and such.

"Helga wasn't impressed," said Harry. "Although, we did convince her to refrain from using violence in front of the children."

"We?" asked Hermione. "How long were you there, Harry? It sounds like you had a fair amount of influence back then."

Harry froze for a moment, looking suspiciously like Hagrid after the half giant had let too much information slip. "Um...checkmate?"

Ron laughed. "Harry, you're nowhere near checkmate! I mean look at the-" Ron looked at the board in shock. Harry had definitely won the game. "That's...that's just not possible. How did you…? But I had you! Didn't I have him?" he asked his battered pieces. They just glared at him in obvious betrayal as they helped each other limp off the board. Ron looked back at Harry. "What exactly were you doing in the past those two months you were gone?"

Harry yawned and stretched. "I was learning. A little of this...a little of that. Did you know that Godric was an excellent chess player? He taught Salazar everything he knew."


	9. Snape's Suspicions

**ZA: Mahahahahahahhaha!**

 **Crispy: Are you starting with an evil laugh AGAIN?**

 **ZA: But I'm so diabolical.**

 **Crispy: Uh-huh.**

 **ZA: We should force whatsit to do the thingy.**

 **Crispy: Um...could you be a little more specific? About all of that?**

 **ZA: Sir Cadogan should do the disclaimer.**

 **Crispy: Oh. Well then why didn't you say that in the first place?**

 **ZA: Brain fart.**

 **Crispy: Can you say "fart" on ?**

 **ZA: It is rated T. For cheeky behavior.**

 **Crispy: Which we will be addressing in the next chapter, but not this one. Gotcha.**

 **Sir Cadogan: Zsugami Alba does not own Harry Potter. Or my noble steed. Come, Gertrude!**

 **Gertrude: Neigh!**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

 _ **Excerpts from The Book**_

Chapter 9: Snape's Suspicions

Dumbledore looked up from his copy of _**Hogwarts: an unabridged history**_ to address the Sorting Hat. "Sassy, is it?"

The hat perked up at the first mention of his name in centuries. "Why yes! Sassafras at your service, Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiled and asked, "Do you have any good pickup lines?"

"Oh, loads of them! Barrels full! My personal favorite is 'If you were a booger, I'd pick you first.' I've not gotten a chance to try it out, but it sounds like a winner."

"Nevermind."

-line break-

"So, Harry," Ron began as the trio walked to Potions class, "I learned this really cool trick while you were gone. I've been waiting to get a really good cold so I can try it out, and I think I've finally picked one up. Wanna see?"

"Ron!" Hermione shot a warning glare. "Nobody wants to see your disgusting trick."

Ron looked affronted. "But my aim has gotten a lot better. I promise it won't land anywhere near you."

Hermione gave him a suspicious look before increasing her pace to put distance between herself and the two boys.

"What's up with her?" Harry asked.

Ron shook his head. "She just has no appreciation for real life skills. I'm telling you it's dead useful."

"You can show me after Potions."

-line break-

"By now, you should have reached the stage where your potion is a light chartreuse," droned Snape from the front of the classroom.

Ron leaned over to Harry and asked, "What's chartreuse?"

"This color, I think," said Harry as he pointed to his own potion. "Well, what do you know? I think I've gotten it right. According to the instructions, we let it simmer for five minutes before adding the zarconian beetle snuff."

Ron looked down at his own cauldron with its gelatinous, orange contents, and said, "I suppose this one's a lost cause. Oh well." Then he brightened. Hey, Harry! Here, hold my wand and watch this!" He took in a deep breath through his nose. Snerk!

"Ron?" Harry said with a panicked expression. "What are you…?"

Phoot! Time seemed to slow dramatically as Harry spotted the wad of mucus heading towards Ron's cauldron. Harry grabbed Hermione and dragged her under the table with a cry of "SNOTROCKET!"

* * *

Professor Severus Snape was familiar with the rule, but the ancient Potions Master's handbook that had been handed down through the generations had been vague on what exactly a snotrocket was and how it would affect the Draught of Peace. Nevertheless, he certainly would have preferred more warning than Potter's "SNOTROCKET!" provided. He barely had time to cast a personal shield charm before Weasley's cauldron exploded, raining disgusting, green goop on the entire classroom.

He'd studied the memory several times in the pensieve he'd borrowed from the Headmaster, yet he still could not figure out how Potter had caused this calamity. It had to have been Potter, of course. He and Granger were the only ones who had emerged unscathed. How had the brat done it? Severus sighed as he realized he needed the help of fresh eyes to solve this particular mystery. He would prove Potter's guilt if it was the last thing he did. The horrid goop had proven immune to all cleansing procedures, and all Potions classes had been suspended until the mess was cleared.

* * *

Severus, Minerva, and Albus stood around the pensieve in Severus' office. "I'll warn you both that what you are about to see may haunt you for the remainder of your lives. I've never witnessed such a catastrophic event in all my years of teaching."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, you've been traumatized, and your classroom has been soiled. Do let's get on with it."

Severus nearly pouted. "Very well, let us proceed."

The three professors touched the silvery contents of the pensieve and were whisked away into Severus' memory.

"I know it's Potter's fault," Severus ranted again. "He's the one who shouts the warning. Then he ducks under the table with Granger just in time to avoid contamination. I just can't see what he did."

"Really, Severus," McGonagall chided. "Why are you so sure that Potter is the root of every mishap to befall Hogwarts?"

"Calm down, both of you," said Albus. "Let us view the events and determine the truth for ourselves."

The three turned to survey the scene. It seemed just like any other Potions class. Students were busy with their brewing as Severus watched them all with his trademark disapproval. Suddenly, Potter looked panicked and shouted, "SNOTROCKET!" as he grabbed Granger and ducked under the table. Weasley looked stunned as he was doused with a wave of green goop. The initial explosion then caused a chain reaction of explosions from cauldron to cauldron until the entire class was covered with the vile substance. The memory then froze, and Albus moved toward Memory Severus' position to get a closer look.

"I'm curious, Severus," he said, pointing to the Severus-shaped spot of clean wall behind Memory Severus. "Why is your shield charm not spherical?"

Severus blushed at the evidence of his inferior spellwork. "I only had an instant to react."

Minerva looked smug. "So you panicked?"

Severus' blush actually deepened. "Well, yes."

"I see," said Minerva. "However, what I do not see is Harry Potter causing this mess. I was watching him closely the entire time, and he did nothing until he saw the danger."

"Until he saw the impending danger," corrected Albus.

"Exactly!" cried Severus. "He saw that it was going to happen. How did he know if he wasn't involved?"

"It's quite simple, really," said Albus. "Perhaps if you had focused your attention on Mr. Weasley instead, you might have seen what really happened." He waved his wand and restarted the memory as Minerva and Severus moved closer to the trio's table.

"Here, hold my wand and watch this!" Weasley was saying just before he pressed a finger against his right nostril and expelled the contents of his left nostril right into the center of his own cauldron.

"Ah," said Minerva. "That would explain what a snotrocket is."

"But how did Potter know? How could he have known what would happen?" asked Severus. "I've only seen the term 'snotrocket' in the old Potions Master's handbook that has been passed down from Potions Master to Potions Master since the time of...oh. Hmm...this bears further investigation."

"And a detention for Mr. Weasley," added Minerva. "I'll personally deduct 70 points from Gryffindor for this terrible example of poor judgment."

* * *

Snape sat at his ruined desk as he watched Weasley, who was futilely applying a soapy mop to the goopy floor. Suddenly, the door burst open, and a surprisingly clean Draco Malfoy rushed in. "Professor Snape! Uncle Sal has solved our problem!"

Weasley looked up from his mop with a hopeful expression which was soon quashed by Snape's withering glare. He bent over his hopeless task once more.

"Step into my office, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said. Turning to Weasley, he added, "Keep working, Weasley. It's been three hours already, and I'd like to get some sleep tonight."

Once the office door was closed, Draco began again. "Uncle Sal said salt water is the key. It'll eliminate that goop from everything. Of course, he also suggested making the culprit use dry salt. It'll cause the goop to harden and can then be removed with a chisel."

Severus smiled. "Do thank your Uncle Sal for me. I'll send for the salt. In about half an hour."

* * *

"Please take a seat, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," said Snape. "I assure you the substance on them will not transfer to your clothing. It's quite harmless in this form. Normally, I would meet with you in the Headmaster's office, but I must continue to keep an eye on your...son while he finishes his detention."

The two parents looked to Ron as he doggedly chipped away at the crust-covered walls. He appeared to be only a third of the way through the classroom.

"How long has he been at it?" asked Mrs. Weasley.

"It's only been six hours," replied Snape smoothly. "It's going much faster now that the salt has hardened the...product of his misconduct."

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "Ahem. Yes, well...we're certainly appalled at our son's recent behavior. Even the twins haven't caused anything this...impressive. I mean, excessive."

* * *

Once Weasley had finished half the classroom, Severus dismissed him for the duration of the evening with strict instructions to return immediately after breakfast the following morning.

' _Now where did I put that handbook?_ ' Severus thought as he scanned his bookshelves. ' _Ah, there it is._ ' He opened it to the cryptic 'Snotrocket' page and read: "When brewing the Draft of Peace, be sure to avoid the addition of any snotrockets to the concoction. This is vitally important. The resulting fiasco is beyond description."

' _Vague words indeed. The handwriting, however, is undoubtedly familiar. How can that be? Perhaps I'm wrong. Comparison of this sample to his most recently submitted essay should prove that once and for all._ '

* * *

"Good morning, children," said Professor Umbridge in her sickly sweet voice.

"Good morning, Professor Umbridge," the class responded in dull unison.

"Today we shall be reading in chapter 13, so please open your books and - Who are you?"

The entire class turned to see who had caught Umbridge's attention. A stranger was standing in the doorway. He was a tall, scruffy-looking man with long, black hair that he'd woven into a single braid that he draped over his left shoulder. His head was topped with a mass of long, messy bangs. He was wearing rather old fashioned robes, and he looked as though he'd stepped out of one of the thousands of portraits that decorated the halls of Hogwarts.

"Ah!" he said. "You must be Professor...I know it began with a U. Don't help me. I'll remember it in a moment. Unction? No. Unicorn?" He looked Umbridge up and down a moment before continuing. "No, definitely not. Oh! Ulcer! No, that's not it. No, don't tell me!" he cried, holding up his two index fingers and making a chopping motion at Umbridge. "Unabridged? Is that even close? Are some of the letters right? How many?"

"Really, Mister…?" interrupted a very impatient Umbridge.

"I am Professor Salazar Slytherin," the stranger provided helpfully.

"Yes, well...wait, did you say 'Salazar Slytherin'?"

"Yes, congratulations on your excellent hearing!"

"Don't be ridiculous. I can't have strange men barging into my classroom and claiming to be someone who has been deceased for centuries. It's disruptive," Umbridge argued.

Slytherin walked past her to the far window. "Not deceased. Missing. Anyway, let's get some fresh air into this room. The air is positively stifling! Or perhaps that's just you." He pulled out his wand and stood with Umbridge between him and the now open window. "Fore!" he cried as he swung his wand as if it were a golf club and banished the DADA professor right into the outdoors. He rushed to the window and peered out. "Oh! Look at the distance! I do believe she'll land somewhere in the Forbidden Forest. Oh dear. That's a three stroke penalty. I was aiming for the lake. Oh well. I'm sure the centaurs will show her the way out."

Slytherin turned back to face the classroom. Every student was staring at him, most of them with their mouths agape in shock. "50 points to the first student who can identify the sport I just referenced," he declared. "Anyone?" He looked around. After a moment, Draco hesitantly raised his hand. "Yes! You, blonde boy!"

"I believe it was...golf?" answered Draco hesitantly.

"Excellent! 50 points to...Slytherin? Excellent. Now what do you all say to practicing a spell or two?"

* * *

"That was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts class I've ever been to!" raved Ron to the twins as he dug into his lunch. "That Slytherin guy actually chucked Umbridge out the window and into the Forbidden Forest! It was so cool!"

"Really, Ron," Hermione said, looking uncomfortable. "I'm not sure we should be celebrating so soon. This can't be the last we've seen of her, and we don't know who this Slytherin guy really is. He can't be the founder."

"Calm down, Hermione," scoffed Ron. "Have you seen the hourglasses? All those points he awarded actually registered in the system."

"You're only praising him because he awarded you 50 points for saying 'Excuse me' after you belched."

"Don't forget the extra 20 points for excellent tone," Ron reminded her. He grinned at the twins, who looked as though they couldn't wait to meet Hogwarts' newest - or perhaps oldest professor.

Harry looked glum. "I can't believe I missed it. What a time to get explosive diarrhea."

Hermione squinted at him. "Don't you mean dysentery?"

"Don't be silly, Hermione. Dysentery lasts longer than one hour," Harry replied as he helped himself to a sandwich.

"Still," Hermione continued, "It would have been helpful if you'd been there. You could've confirmed whether or not he really is Salazar Slytherin."

Harry thought for a moment. "Hmm...describe him to me."

"Well," Hermione began, "He was really scruffy looking…"

"You mean 'rugged'?" Harry interrupted.

"And he had these ridiculously long bangs…"

"You mean fashionably ruffled?"

"And really old-looking robes…"

"You mean classically styled?"

"Oh, honestly, Harry! Would you please stop interrupting?" Hermione huffed.

"Well, if he's really as cool as you say, he must be the real deal," declared Harry.

* * *

"Professor Slytherin?"

"Yes, Thing 1?"

"What would happen if you added a couple of drops of…" Fred Weasley looked down at the container in his hand, "...nitroglycerin to an infusion of wormwood?"

Slytherin looked more than a little intrigued. "I don't know. You probably shouldn't attempt such a thing without adult supervision."

The twin looked disappointed. "However," added the professor, "the class does need to brush up on their shield charms. I think I've got a cauldron stashed somewhere in my office. Won't take a moment." The two Weasleys grinned at each other as Slytherin disappeared into his office.

Ten minutes later, the aforementioned cauldron was suspended over a cheery fire that blazed in the middle of the room. Slytherin addressed the class, "Everyone have their wands ready?" The class nodded. He turned to George and said, "All right, Thing 2, you may proceed on my mark. One...two...three!" George let three drops fall into the cauldron and BOOM!

* * *

Severus Snape was on his way to confront the new DADA professor he'd heard his students raving about. ' _If it really is Salazar Slytherin - and I don't believe that for a moment, then I'll finally be able to prove my theory_ ' he thought. ' _Just one more turn to the right, and the DADA classroom will be at the end of the -_ ' BOOM!

Severus turned the corner just in time to see the door to the DADA classroom fly across the hall and crush a suit of armor. "What in the name of...?" He rushed to the now empty door frame to assess the situation. Inside, the entire class was standing behind an array of personal shield charms and grinning at each other. All of the desks had been pushed against the walls, and three figures wearing muggle safety goggles stood next to the smoking remains of what must have been a cauldron. Shrapnel was embedded in various places around the room, in walls, the floor, the chalkboard….

"What," Severus began, "in the name of Salazar Slytherin happened here?"

The tallest figure pulled his goggles down around his neck. "Funny you should use those words. I am Salazar Slytherin. We were just practicing our shield charms."

Snape raised one eyebrow. "It looks as if you've been attempting to brew a potion. In the DADA classroom, no less."

Slytherin shrugged. "Well, not exactly. We were just testing the interactive properties of a foreign ingredient. Everyone is perfectly fine. Aren't you, class?" Everyone nodded. "Ten points for each limb still attached to its owner!" The class cheered, though one boy looked a bit deflated. "And ten extra points to Smith for the quick recovery of his leg." The boy brightened as he proudly held up his artificial leg. "Well, I think that's all for today. Class dismissed. Go have fun, and don't try that at home."

Severus watched in mild disbelief as the students filed out of the classroom. He turned to face Slytherin, who was disappearing into his office. Severus hurried to catch up with him. "Professor Slytherin!" he called.

"Yes, Professor Snape?" the strange man replied. "Can I help you with something?"

"Oh, I believe you can...Potter."

Slytherin froze for a moment. "Potter? I'm afraid I'm just a humble Hogwarts professor. I don't know the first thing about pottery." He smiled vacantly as he hung his outer robe on a piece of cauldron that was protruding through the door. "Quite handy! I think I'll keep that right there. It adds character to the room."

Severus would not be easily distracted. "I don't know how you did it, but your reaction to the name Potter tells me I'm right. You are Harry Potter. You're handwriting gives you away." He held out his Potions Master manual and Harry's essay on the properties of flobberworm mucus.

"Ah, yes," sighed Slytherin. "But only when I'm not Salazar Slytherin. Thirty points to Slytherin for excellent detective work."

"I'm not a student," Snape pointed out.

"Yet you are still learning, are you not?" asked Slytherin. Severus just glared at him. "Oh, very well." Slytherin waved his wand over himself and morphed into the familiar bane of Severus' existence. "I'm doing the school a favor, you know. Umbridge's teaching methods were worse than her fashion sense."

"Obviously," agreed Severus. "How are you managing to teach all of her classes and attend your own as Harry Potter?"

"I found a time turner when I was tossing out her things. It was hidden behind a framed photo of Minister Fudge." Potter shuddered. "It had lipstick prints on it." Severus shuddered, too. "At first I thought I would have to disappear so that Slytherin could take over, but now I have a carefully planned out schedule - including naps!"

Severus held out his hand. "Let me see it."

Harry looked reluctant, but eventually caved. He reached into the top drawer and pulled out a roll of parchment. Severus took it and read it over. "Where on here have you scheduled your lesson planning?"

"After so many years of teaching, I can just wing it. Who needs a syllabus? I believe this particular subject requires a more fluid approach."

Severus sighed. Potter's propensity for troublemaking was exceeding even his high expectations.


	10. Don't look, Ethel!

**ZA: Buttocks! I'm so excited! Teehee!**

 **Crispy: You do realize that's weird, right?**

 **ZA: Heeheeheeheehee!**

 **Crispy: And now here's Severus Snape with our disclaimer!**

 **Snape: Come along now, Alba. *grabs ZA and attempts to drag her away* That's enough silliness for today.**

 **Crispy: No, no! You're here to do the disclaimer.**

 **Snape: Oh. Very well. Zsugami Alba does not own Harry Potter. *starts to walk away***

 **ZA: Ahem-hem.**

 **Snape: *sighs* Or anyone's buttocks.**

 **Crispy: Except her own.**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

 _ **Excerpts from The Book**_

Chapter 10: Don't look, Ethel!*

Minerva adjusted the spectacles perched atop her nose and reached for the Weekly House Point Tally Report. ' _Time to see how my little lions are doing.'_

Gryffindor: 627

Hufflepuff: 638

Ravenclaw: 593

Slytherin: 702

' _What in Merlin's name?_ ' thought Minerva. ' _How can that be possible?_ ' She moved her gaze down to the detailed report below the summary.

"'50 points awarded for getting my reference' - Sal. '60 points for suggesting a bonfire' - Sal. 'And 40 points for bringing marshmallows for everyone' - Sal. '50 points for saying excuse me after that impressive belch' ? - Sal. 'And 20 points for excellent tone' ?!"

* * *

"It was a very respectful belch, Professor Snape," explained Sal. Severus was not amused.

"You do realize that Professor McGonagall gets a detailed summary of all the house points awarded each week?"

"Yes," said Sal. "Your point?"

* * *

Minerva barged right in on Albus' meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt, marched up to his desk, and shoved the report under his nose.

"Something wrong, Minerva?" asked Albus.

"Look at this, Albus! 60 points for suggesting a bonfire! 40 points for bringing marshmallows! 10 points for each limb still attached to its owner, and an extra 10 to Smith for the speedy recovery of his leg! All awarded by someone named 'Sal'!"

Albus peered down his nose at the parchment before him. "Ahem. Yes. Well, Kingsley, I think we should reschedule for next Tuesday, don't you?"

"That sounds like a good idea, Headmaster," Kingsley agreed with a smirk. He bowed to Albus and Minerva before taking his leave.

"Someone has been tampering with the House Point system, Albus. This is outrageous!" Minerva stood before him, fuming. Albus could almost swear he saw smoke coming from underneath her peaked hat.

"Calm down, Minerva. There have been rumors that Dolores Umbridge was forcefully evicted from her post. I'm assuming that this 'Sal' is her replacement."

Minerva looked incredulous. "You're assuming? Don't you know? You are the Headmaster, last time I checked."

"I've been rather busy," Albus confessed. "What with Order business and Ministry runarounds...the disturbance among the house elves regarding abandoned clothing. I'm doing the best I can. The wards haven't alerted me to any danger. In fact, they seem to be a bit more...cheery than usual. The castle seems brighter, actually. Even at night."

"And you don't think that this is cause for concern?" questioned Minerva.

"Happiness is usually a positive sign, Minerva. Why question it?" Albus shrugged.

Minerva was not appeased. "I demand that you call up the official staff roster."

"Very well." Albus waved his wand over a corner of his desk, which proceeded to spit out a narrow length of parchment with a list of names. "Let's see...Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore...Deputy Headmistress, Professor of Transfiguration, and Head of Gryffindor House: Minerva McGonagall…"

"Yes, yes! Skip to the end!" Minerva snapped.

Albus raised an eyebrow at her before skipping down to the bottom of the parchment. "Ahem. Yes. School Founder and Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts: Sal Slytherin. Huh. That's unexpected."

* * *

"Ah! There's some lovely new scorch marks!" sighed Professor Slytherin as he gazed upon the shattered remains of Umbridge's "Kittens of the World" signature plate collection glittering in the ashes in the center of the room. "This room is finally starting to develop a real patina."

"Professor Slytherin?" Hermione Granger knocked on the open door of the DADA classroom. "I was wonder- Did you start a fire in here?" She gazed down at the room's newest centerpiece in shock.

"Yes. Winnifred Rockbell came up with the splendid idea of burning those ridiculous excuses for textbooks. Then I went and got the kitten plates, and we roasted marshmallows and tortured that toad in effigy." He pointed upward to direct Hermione's gaze to the mannequin hanging from the chandelier. "Thurston Higgins did the face. I think it's quite like her."

"Is that one of her actual cardigans?" asked Hermione.

"Well, it wasn't as though I was going to wear it. Was there something you wanted?" he looked at her brightly.

"Uh, well...I've recently purchased this book called _Hogwarts: an unabridged history_ , and I was wondering if you could confirm a few things for me. I don't think it's quite right. I mean, it can't be, can it?" She held the book out for him to take it.

Slytherin opened the book to find a marked passage:

 _ **Chapter Ten: Choosing the Mascots**_

 _ **I called the snake first chance I got. Helga seemed a bit put out, but she soon recovered and then couldn't decide between a badger and a Hungarian horntail. Both were, in her opinion, "inspirationally dangerous and not to be messed with." Everyone thought Rowena would choose a raven, but she muttered something that sounded like "nevermore" and opted for the eagle. Only Godric remained.**_

" _ **I'm thinking puffskein. I want a puffskein. They're dead useful, and that's my final choi- Oh, look! A bunny! Sal, can I have a bunny?" Godric begged.**_

 _ **I responded in the negative. "It needs to be something that represents who you are at your core. Something people aspire to. Something noble and fierce. Perhaps with claws."**_

" _ **I've got it, Sal. I know what I have to choose. I want...an armadillo." Rowena slapped her hand over her eyes.**_

 _ **Helga looked confused. "A what?"**_

" _ **An armadillo!" declared Godric. "A noble creature with an armored shell around its body. But not like a turtle. Turtles bite. I don't like turtles unless they're really cute."**_

 _ **I gave him my most quelling "Sal" stare. "You can't have an armadillo. Or a turtle," I told him. It needs to be something fierce."**_

" _ **Can I have a Helga?" he asked before Helga promptly broke his nose.**_

 _ **Weeks went by. "How about a monarch butterfly? We can flit and soar over the world…"**_

" _ **No."**_

" _ **I want a duck. But not an old duck, a new duck. And I could keep one as a pet and teach it to clean its room, and it could lay me eggs and fetch me things." Godric looked as though he was really hoping for this one.**_

" _ **No."**_

" _ **Can I have a corn snake?" he asked for the thirtieth time.**_

" _ **No. I already have a snake. That includes all snakes."**_

" _ **Oh." Then he brightened. "Can I have a really fuzzy caterpillar?"**_

" _ **What is fierce about that? Caterpillars aren't dangerous."**_

" _ **It could be a poisonous caterpillar," he suggested. "I think one bit me."**_

 _ **This was not good news if one were truly acquainted with Godric. "When? Where?"**_

" _ **Yesterday by the lake," he told me.**_

" _ **I meant where on your body?"**_

" _ **On my finger," he said, holding out his right hand. "I asked Helga to kiss it better, but…"**_

" _ **So that's why your nose is broken again? Let me have a look at it." It was swollen and green with sunshine yellow pus. "Are you sure it was a caterpillar?"**_

" _ **Pretty sure." He thought for a moment. "Or it could have been a really fuzzy, short snake. Pretty sure it was a caterpillar, though." He nodded as if that decided the matter.**_

 _ **Rowena helped me fix Godric's finger. Luckily, we caught it before the damage became irreversible. You never really knew with Godric. Things just sort of happened to him. But that's for another chapter.**_

 _ **Finally, after three months of indecision and really bad ideas, the castle had been completed. The students were coming in two days, and Godric still did not have a mascot for Gryffindor House. "That's it," I told him. "You're getting a lion."**_

" _ **But I don't like lions. They're scary," he complained. "I had a traumatic experience as a child."**_

" _ **Really? I haven't heard about that one. What happened?" I asked him.**_

" _ **A long time ago, my father slew a lion and stuffed it for display in our great room. It was always...looking at me with its...eyes. No matter where I went in the room, those eyes followed me. I had nightmares. Oh, and then there was the time that a live lion chased me up a tree."**_

" _ **Right. Lion it is then."**_

Slytherin looked up from the book. "I don't see anything wrong with it."

Hermione leveled a very Rowena-like gaze at him. "Godric Gryffindor? Afraid of lions?"

"Well, wouldn't you be? Lions are scary for most people. That's why they make such a great mascot. Very intimidating. In fact, I would've chosen the lion if I weren't a parselmouth."

Hermione rolled her eyes and turned the book to a different section. "How about this then?" she asked, pointing to another marked passage. "This can't be true."

 _ **Chapter Twelve: Don't Look, Ethel!**_

 _ **For reasons that I had better not disclose in this book, Godric got it into his head to make a visual representation of his posterior to entice a lady friend. He hiked up his robes, pulled down his trousers, and sat himself upon a tabletop. He then performed an image transference charm of his own invention and successfully copied his bottom's likeness onto the table. He then realized that he'd forgotten to put down the parchment. He signed his name directly on the tabletop and then placed the parchment on top of the image for another transfer. Deciding, as was his way, that more is better, he infused extra power into his spell this time. It ripped a hole through the parchment and the image transferred to the ceiling instead. Unfortunately, he did all this in the Great Hall. Students would be arriving within the week, and there was a giant pair of buttocks staring down at the breakfast tables.**_

 _ **Hoping that we wouldn't notice, Godric said nothing to anyone. Instead, he went off to fetch his lady friend to view the fruit of his labors. While he was gone, Rowena, Helga and I were doing a final walkthrough of the castle, taking note of last minute items that needed tending. Imagine our surprise when we looked up to enjoy the beauty of a clean, new, vaulted ceiling and saw a mole in the shape of Denmark right next to Godric's signature in reverse.**_

" _ **I'm going to kill that man!" Surprisingly, that was Rowena. She was normally so levelheaded. Helga began to roll up her sleeves and cast her eyes about for a head of red hair. After taking a moment to admire the extremity of his mistake, I attempted to remove the offending image. Nothing worked. Not 'finite incantem', not soap, not any sort of magical or muggle means could eliminate Godric Gryffindor's buttocks from our view.**_

 _ **Hours later, Helga declared it to be "hopeless. We'll have to look at them for the rest of our lives."**_

 _ **Rowena attempted to find a positive view. "Perhaps if we simply keep our gazes downward...or we could...I have no idea."**_

 _ **It was I who suggested that, if we couldn't make the buttocks disappear, perhaps we should make the whole ceiling disappear.**_

" _ **How will removing the roof solve our problems? The rainy season is upon us!" Rowena argued.**_

" _ **No, we will simply make the ceiling invisible. That way, everyone will see the beauty of the sky. Everyone will be impressed, and we can claim that we always meant to do that."**_

 _ **I think Helga was on the verge of actually kissing me. A frightening thought. Luckily, Godric arrived just then with his lady friend. "Where are my buttocks?" he cried, as he gazed at our new and improved ceiling renovation. The aforementioned lady friend turned and fled. It was probably for the best.**_

 _ **Still, the image was not entirely obliterated. On clear days, you can sort of see the outline of the left buttock, but people usually assume it's just a cloud.**_

"I still don't see anything wrong with it," said Slytherin. "That's pretty much how I remember it."

* * *

Dumbledore, McGonagall, and various other members of Hogwarts' staff looked on as three ministry officials came through the doors of the Great Hall with ladders. "Monkstanley and Mintumble, set those up over there," ordered Saul Croaker, pointing to the center of the Great Hall. The officials climbed up onto the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables to set up their magically extending ladders.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded McGonagall. "We're right in the middle of breakfast!"

Croaker turned to address the Deputy Headmistress. "Sorry, Professor, but the Department of Mysteries has received an anonymous donation that hinges upon the confirmation of the veracity of Chapter Twelve in _Hogwarts: an unabridged history_."

"Chapter Twelve?"

"Specifically, the claim that Godric Gryffindor's buttocks can be seen under the invisibility charm placed on the ceiling of the Great Hall. It's doubtful, but the donation offered is such a large sum that we must give it a try." Croaker turned back to his colleagues. "Wands at the ready! Let's have ourselves a looksee!"

The morning sky began to dissolve into an expanse of grey stone and...pale flesh. Apparently, Gryffindor never got much sun. "Oh my," said Croaker.

* * *

"It's an outrage, Albus! Absolutely indecent and unacceptable!" shouted McGonagall, waving a hand at the ceiling. "It's an embarrassment to the entire school!"

"You know," said Madame Pince, "They're actually quite nice. I wouldn't mind gazing up at that every day over a cup of tea."

Professor Sprout seemed to agree. "I give them a nine. Definitely one for the notebook."

"Mmhmm," agreed Madame Hooch.

"Meh," shrugged Madame Pomfrey. "I've seen better."

"Really?" asked Sprout. "Whose?"

"I'm bound by healer/patient confidentiality, but my scale goes up to twelve."

Snape shuddered. "I did not need to hear that."

McGonagall glared everyone back into silence before addressing the Headmaster once more. "How long are they going to leave it like this?"

"Well," he said, "they weren't really expecting to find anything, so they left all of the necessary equipment for documenting it behind. No pun intended." Giggles were heard throughout the hall. "Croaker said it would be roughly one week."

"ONE WEEK?!" shrieked McGonagall.

"Well, no more than two. Three at the most."

McGonagall sighed. "This is all that Sal's fault. I still haven't met him yet. He's never around when I visit the DADA classroom. It's as if he's avoiding me, or something."

"Really? I can't imagine why," muttered Snape.

McGonagall glared at him. "He at least needs to come to meals. It says in the employee handbook that all staff are required to attend at least one meal each day in the Great Hall. Severus, you've had contact with him, haven't you?"

"Briefly," he replied.

"Next time you see him, bring him to the Great Hall. I don't care what it takes. Just make it happen. The man needs to assume more responsibility for his actions."

* * *

Harry stood in the castle's main entrance. "Dobby! Please bring me some popcorn. And a chair. I want to be ready for the show."

"Yes, Mister Harry Potter, Sir! Dobby is happy to help!"

"Harry, you really shouldn't use Dobby as your personal house elf like that," admonished Hermione. "And what show are you referring to?"

"Wait for it," said Harry as he accepted Dobby's offering of popped corn and chair.

"Help! Help! I'm being repressed! I'm being repressed!" shouted Professor Slytherin as Professor Snape dragged him by his braid toward the doors to the Great Hall. "Come and see the violence inherent in the system! Come and see the violence inherent in the system!"

"Do shut up, Slytherin," said Snape.

"Twenty points to Gryffindor for enduring tyranny!" Slytherin shouted.

"You can't award points to yourself," Snape whispered harshly in Slytherin's ear.

"Twenty points to all the houses for enduring tyranny!" Slytherin corrected himself. "You won't take me alive! I refuse to conform! I will fight you to my very last breath!"

The scene continued through the doors, down the row of tables, to the DADA professor's seat at the staff table. "No! I won't sit there! It's contaminated! Don't you know where it's been?"

Snape looked pointedly at Slytherin before drawing his wand and performing a very strong cleansing charm on the chair. "There. Good as new. Now sit. Down."

"No! I won't do it! I won't! I won't! I won't! You can't make me!" Slytherin continued to wail in protest. "I'd rather you send me to an orphanage! Or a coal mine! Or Longleat on a Saturday in the height of summer! Or an ostrich farm!"

Snape ignored his colleague's ridiculous shouting and shoved Slytherin into the chair and cast both silencing and sticking charms on him. "You will sit there and behave as a civilized human being. Eat your toast." Snape shoved a piece of toast into Slytherin's still moving but silent mouth. Slytherin glared at him and slumped down in his seat.

Hermione was appalled. "It's the third day he's done this. You'd think he'd give up already."

Ron shook his head. "I don't know. My money is on Professor Slytherin this time. Snape's scary, but Professor Slytherin's got to have learned patience after all these years."

* * *

 **Crispy: Well, there you have it, folks. Cheeky behavior, indeed.**

 **ZA: Heeheeheeheehee!**

*But it was too late. She done been mooned.


	11. Where Do Heirs Come From?

**ZA: Now for the moment you've all been waiting for…**

 **Crispy: Hoverboards?**

 **ZA: No.**

 **Crispy: Pink Floyd's reunion tour?**

 **ZA: No. And don't hold your breath for that one.**

 **Ryklef the Inept: The sixth Twilight book?**

 **ZA: Oh, that's horrible. I don't even want to think about that.**

 **Crispy: Yeah. Quit trying to further your own agenda.**

 **ZA: It's the moment people have been asking for in all of the reviews. People keep asking, "When will Ron and Hermione find out that Harry is Sal? How are they not figuring this out?" Well, it's because the idea is so impossible. Harry: Gryffindor golden boy; Slytherin: bigoted Founder and Parent of Darkness.**

 **Crispy: Parent of Darkness?**

 **ZA: You know...Voldemort.**

 **Crispy: *eyeroll* Just say the thing, Ryklef.**

 **Ryklef: Zsugami Alba does not own Harry Potter or any other fandom that makes an appearance here. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must adjourn to the little boy's room to refresh my glitter.**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

 _ **Excerpts from The Book**_

Chapter 11: Where do heirs come from?

"Brrbffin," Harry mumbled at the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"What? Speak up, man! I can't understand a word you're saying!" complained the Fat Lady.

Harry sighed. "I said, 'buttered muffin'. Now open up, please. I'm tired."

"Hmph. Only doing my job," muttered the portrait as she swung open.

Harry stumbled through the entrance and trudged toward the stairs to the boys' dorms, not noticing how very quiet it was in the common room.

"Um. Are you all right?" asked a small voice. Harry looked up to see a first year girl with a slightly confused look on her face.

"I'm fine. I'm just tired. Thursdays are always the worst. The weekend is right there...but it isn't. I'm just going to turn in. Goodnight." He turned towards the stairs again.

"But Professor Slytherin," said the girl. "This is the Gryffindor common room."

Harry suddenly stopped and glanced down at himself. He had forgotten to change from Sal to Harry. ' _Why did I think skipping my nap today was a good idea?'_ ' He made a show of looking around the room. "Oh! So it is! I was wondering what everyone was doing in my sitting room. Hello!" Harry waved at all the gawking Gryffindors. "I seem to have gotten turned around. It's those ridiculous staircases. In my day, stairs stayed where they were supposed to. None of this drifting around from landing to landing, willy nilly. I'd better get to my own quarters now. Goodnight. Don't forget to finish those essays for tomorrow!"

"What?" several students shouted.

Hermione seemed to be turning green. "There's an essay due tomorrow?"

Harry stopped short. "Oh. Did I forget to assign it? Nevermind. No homework for you then. Don't bother. Less for me to grade, I suppose." Half the room breathed a sigh of relief.

Hermione turned to Ron. "There's something wrong with him," she said. "Maybe we should follow him and make sure he doesn't wind up passed out behind a suit of armor."

The two Gryffindors tread lightly, but Ron doubted Slytherin would have heard them if they had been riding elephants with cymbals on their knees. The professor was practically sleepwalking, poor fellow. "He's probably so tired because of all those extra long essays you've been turning in. That's a lot for one man to read, you know."

"Shut up, Ron," snapped Hermione. "I was only being thorough. Oh no. He's wandered into Myrtle's bathroom now." They hurried to catch up.

"Maybe he's headed for the Chamber of Secrets," suggested Ron.

Hermione cast him an incredulous look. "What on earth would he want to go there for? It's filthy."

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. I was just guessing."

"Let's just get him turned back around the right way again, shall we?" Hermione pushed open the bathroom door, and she and Ron entered to find… "Harry?"

Harry turned around, "Oh, hello! I, uh...needed to visit the loo."

Ron shook his head. "Why would you want to use this one, mate? Myrtle's always here. That's just weird."

"I don't know. I'm tired. It was close. Thursdays are always the worst. The weekend's right there...but it isn't."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Harry, have you been spending time with Professor Slytherin?"

"No, not really," he answered. "Why?"

"Because he just said that very thing to Helga Brightmoor a few minutes ago. When he was in the Gryffindor common room. In fact, we followed him here. Have you seen him?"

Harry looked around. "No. I must have missed him while I was in one of the stalls. Are you sure he even came in here?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah, mate. He was looking pretty knackered when he stumbled through the door. We thought he might need to be woken up and pointed in the right direction."

"Huh. That's odd. He's not here now."

"Yes," agreed Hermione. "That is odd." She drew her wand and pointed it at Harry. "Who are you really? Where's Slytherin? Where's Harry? What's going on?"

Harry turned to Ron with wide eyes. "Uh, Ron? A little help here?"

"What are you doing, Hermione?" Ron hissed.

"We followed Slytherin in here, but he's not here. Instead, we find Harry, who claims he never saw Slytherin in here. Plus, Harry claims that he came in here to use the loo when we know perfectly well that Harry would never risk exposing himself to Myrtle - especially after what happened last year in the prefects' bath." She focused all of her attention on Harry. "You've been acting rather suspicious since your supposed return. Beating Ron at chess? Knowing when Slytherin would be causing a scene and having popcorn at the ready? Getting good grades in Potions class? Who are you, and what have you done with Harry Potter? And where is Professor Slytherin?"

Harry sighed. "Oh, all right. You've found me out." He waved his wand over himself and became Sal again. "Ta-dah. I'm Harry Potter and Slytherin. Can I go to bed now? I'm really beat."

"Oh no you don't!" Hermione jabbed her wand in Harry's direction. "You couldn't possibly be Harry. Harry couldn't possibly be Slytherin."

"Predestination Paradox ring any bells?" Harry reminded her. "That accident in Potions class threw me into the past. When I woke up, I discovered that Salazar Slytherin didn't exist. I had to become him in order to preserve the timeline."

"You were only gone two months, Harry! I mean, Harry was only gone two months, Fake Harry!"

"Actually, I was in the past a lot longer than that. When I designed the spell that brought me back, I added in a de-aging factor. I thought I could just slip back into the present without anybody noticing. Obviously, I miscalculated and overshot my return date. Sorry about that. Your idea for the Moments in the Life of Harry Potter Tour was really quite touching."

Hermione wasn't buying it. Ron just looked confused. "Tell us something only Harry would know," he suggested. "Then maybe Hermione can put away her wand, you can turn back into Harry, and then we can all go back to bed and discuss this in the morning."

"My patronus is a stag," Harry offered.

Hermione scoffed. "Everyone knows that. Show us your patronus."

Harry yawned hugely before shrugging and saying, "All right. Expecto Patronum." Silver shot forth from his wand and took the form of Prongs...wearing a nightcap. "Whoops. I must be more tired than I thought." Harry then waved his wand over himself, taking his original form once more, before passing out slumped against his corporeal patronus.

Ron turned to Hermione. "Are you satisfied now?"

Hermione lowered her wand. "I suppose so. I still have tons of questions, though."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Of course you do. Save it for morning, though, would you? Come on Prongs. Let's get him to bed." Ron took Harry's other side, and he and the patronus helped the unconscious wizard back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione following behind.

* * *

"So you're Salazar Slytherin?" Hermione asked as soon as she'd pulled Harry into an empty classroom on the way to breakfast.

"Can't this wait until after breakfast?" Ron complained.

"Ron, this is more important than food," scolded Hermione.

"I think I'm with Ron on this one, Hermione," said Harry. "I have a very strict schedule I have to follow to fit in all of my classes and Sal's. I've already missed one nap, and look how that turned out."

Hermione sighed. "All right. ONE question, and then we can eat breakfast."

"Very well. What is it?" Harry sighed.

"Who did you marry?"

"What?"

"Who did you marry in the past? You obviously met someone because...Voldemort is your heir. You can't have heirs without...you know."

Harry just stared at her. "I didn't get married."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Drunken night, Harry?"

"What?! NO! I never got drunk. Helga insisted we all had to stay sober in order to safely escort her home. She was the boozer in the group, not me!"

"Boozer?"

"Her words, not mine!" Harry assured them.

Hermione would not be distracted. "Then how do you explain all of your heirs? Hmm, Harry?"

"I don't know!" Harry protested. "I just arrived back in the present and suddenly had them. Like...they just poofed into existence, or something. It's not my fault. I don't know how it happened."

Ron smirked, "Well, Harry, when a witch and a wizard really love each other…"

"Oh, shut up!" Harry yelled. "There was no falling in love, no drunken nights of forgotten debauchery...nothing happened!"

"Maybe we should go to the library and see what we can find out," suggested Hermione.

"Maybe YOU should go to the library," said Ron. "Harry and I are going to breakfast."

Hermione looked as though she was about to argue. "You promised," Ron reminded her.

* * *

Hermione did let them go to breakfast, but she was right back in their faces the moment they exited the Great Hall. Come quick, Harry! I think I've found her!"

"Found who?" Harry asked.

"Your wife," said Hermione.

"I told you I don't have a wife!" Harry protested.

"Then you'd better see this because Dorcas Wimpleweaver has a very different story." Hermione grabbed Harry and Ron by the arms and dragged them to the library.

* * *

"Who is Dorcas Wimplewhatsit?" Harry asked.

"Dorcas Wimpleweaver," corrected Hermione. "Approximately one year after Slytherin left Hogwarts, she came forward. She claimed she was Slytherin's secret wife, and she had a baby she claimed was Slytherin's heir. Your heir, Harry."

"I don't remember meeting any Dorcas Wimplewumples. I certainly didn't give her any babies."

"Are you sure, Harry? Here's her portrait in this book." Hermione turned the page to show them an illustration of a rather unattractive witch.

"Gee, Harry," said Ron. "I wouldn't admit to knowing her, either. Yeesh!"

Harry just stared at the ghastly image. "Creepy Stalker Chick!" he cried.

Hermione looked reproachfully at Harry. "I thought you said you didn't know her."

"I could never remember her name, but that's Creepy Stalker Chick. She was scary. I mentioned her in the new Hogwarts history book. Chapter...25, I think."

Hermione dug into her book bag and pulled out her copy of _**Hogwarts: an unabridged history**_.

 _ **Chapter 25: Creepy Stalker Chick**_

 _ **When I arose early on the morning of my fifth year teaching, I was dismayed to discover that I was, once again, missing my left boot. Creepy Stalker Chick strikes again. Wait. I haven't mentioned her before. Let me back up.**_

 _ **Before Hogwarts was built. In fact, before Godric and I had even met Helga and Rowena, he and I were strolling through a market near Cardiff, exploring the various merchandise for sale. I lost track of Godric for a few minutes, but he soon returned to my side with his usual cry of "Look, Sal!" I turned to find him holding a tiny, orange fruit. A tiny fruit wearing a tiny wimple. "It's a nunkumquat!"**_

" _ **Where did you find a kumquat?" I asked him, for I knew they were not native to the area. "And how do you know it's called a kumquat?"**_

" _ **There was a bag of them over there, and they each have a sticky piece of parchment on them that says 'KUMQUAT 1048'. What do you suppose the 1048 means?" asked Godric.**_

" _ **Nevermind that," I told him. "Where did you get a wimple small enough for a kumquat. And why? Actually, I can probably guess why, so where?"**_

 _ **Godric pointed to a nearby stall that sold hats and scarves. "There's a woman over there who makes them. She said it's normally for serpents, but she'd let me have this one if I introduced her to my handsome friend."**_

 _ **I looked again at the stall and saw the most...unattractive individual I have ever encountered. "Stabby mice!" I muttered. That is what I always said when I needed to swear and be polite at the same time. It's actually parseltongue, so it loses something in the translation.**_

 _ **Unfortunately, my attempt to avoid offensive language became my downfall. The merchant in the stall, weaver of serpent wimples, was also a parselmouth. As I was the only other parselmouth she'd ever encountered, she immediately assumed we were destined to be together. From that day forward, she was the bane of my existence: following me everywhere, stealing half of my footwear, licking doorknobs she thought I'd touched...I shudder even now at the memory. Her face was not for all markets, you might say. I believe it is entirely possible that she was the result of an unholy union between an adder and a demon from the seventh circle of Hell. In drag. Hopefully, no man ever imbibed enough firewhiskey to discover what her offspring would be.**_

"That's so mean, Harry," Hermione chided.

Ron shook his head. "Look at her, will you? I think it's pretty accurate."

"Well, she claimed to be Slytherin's secret wife and mother to his only heir, so…" Hermione trailed off, lost for words.

Harry sighed. "I feel sorry for the poor drunkard who fell into her pit. But how could anyone think I would...you know...with her?"

Hermione pointed to a paragraph beneath Dorcas Wimpleweaver Slytherin's portrait. "It says here that no one did believe her until her child started speaking to snakes. Since Slytherin was the only known parselmouth, she convinced everyone that the child must be his."

Harry was outraged. "But SHE was a parselmouth! She used to charm the snake portraits guarding my rooms! I had to switch to human portraits that only spoke French!"

Hermione gave him a pitying look. "She apparently never revealed her talent."

Harry looked ill. "I feel so...violated."

Ron tapped him on the arm to get his attention. "Look! It says here that once she managed to verify her claim, she took control of the remains of Slytherin's estate."

Harry turned from pitiful to irate in less than five seconds. "You mean she stole my money? I need to go to London immediately. I have to straighten all this out with Gringotts."

"Don't you think it's a bit late for that?" asked Ron.

"It's the principle of the thing, Ron," argued Harry. "Besides, I need to make certain she didn't gain access to more than the main vault. Hopefully, the goblins did not volunteer any information about my other accounts."

* * *

"Harry?" Hermione began as she, Ron, and Harry (in Sal form) reached the gates separating Hogwarts from the rest of Hogsmeade. "How did you get permission for us to leave school grounds?"

"Call me Sal when I'm in this form, Hermione!" Harry/Sal reminded her. "And it's simple: You just have to be in the company of a professor."

"What about you?" asked Ron. "What's your - I mean Harry's excuse for being gone?"

"Oh, he's serving a detention with me," replied Sal.

"What?" cried Hermione. "You can't oversee your own detention, Ha-Sal!"

"Well, Professor Snape gave me detention for breathing too loud in the hallways as I was returning from quidditch practice, but he had an errand to run today. So he passed the duty onto McGonagall, but she was busy. Luckily, I volunteered to oversee young Potter's detention myself. Everyone wins!"

Ron looked impressed. "Better make sure Snape never finds out," he warned.

Sal laughed. "Oh, don't worry about that. What Snape doesn't know, won't hurt us. Now each of you take an arm," he instructed, holding his arms out from his body, "and I'll side-along us to Diagon Alley. I'll warn you, though: it feels like traveling through one of those crazy straws."

"What's a crazy straw?" Ron wanted to know. Hermione opened her mouth to explain when there was a sudden "SHWOOMP! SPLURT!" and the three travelers were spat out onto the cobblestone walkways of Diagon Alley.

"What was that?" asked a dazed Ron.

"Apparition, mate. Unfortunately, I've never had formal training and can't seem to nail down the customary popping sound. It's more like the noise the pneumatic tube at the bank makes when it sucks up your deposit."

Hermione looked up from her position on the ground, looking a bit green. "If you two don't shut up and give me a minute, I'll be making a deposit in that rubbish bin over there."

Just then, they heard a cheery voice call out, "Sal? Is that you?" All three turned to see a pale, broody looking figure in muggle clothing approaching. There was something off about him, but Ron couldn't quite put his finger on it. Sal grinned.

"Ryklef! Fancy meeting you here! You're looking well fed. Must be nice to have access to blood banks these days. Or did you give up and start feeding on pigs?"

Ron leaned closer to Sal and whispered, "He's a vampire? How do you know a vampire? And what's up with his eyes? That can't be a natural color."

"Of course, my apologies. Allow me to introduce everyone." Sal turned to point to Ron and Hermione. "Ryklef, these are my friends: Ron and Hermione. Ron, Hermione, this is Ryklef the Inept."

Hermione got that look on her face - the one that promised endless questions about things that weren't really important. "Why are you called Ryklef the Inept?"

Ryklef looked confused. "Because that's what my mother named me."

Now Ron looked confused. "Your mother named you Ryklef the Inept?"

"Oh!" said Ryklef, catching on. "No, she named me Ryklef. Sal added that last part. I was terribly incompetent when we met."

Sal looked surprised. "Don't tell me you've gotten better at hunting."

Ryklef smiled smugly. "Yes, you could say I've found my...target market."

"Target market?" asked Hermione.

Ryklef turned his full attention to her. "Yes, my beautiful mortal. I am fascinated by you. I like to watch you sleep and compose music in your honor."

Ron and Hermione looked bewildered and more than a little creeped out. Sal sighed and shook his head. "No, Ryklef. Tell me you didn't."

Ryklef ignored him and leaned closer to Hermione. "Wouldn't you like to join my eternally young family? We could hunt mountain lions together and complete many pointless high school educations."

Hermione shot a desperate look at Sal. "Um...Sal? A little help here?"

"Ryklef," Sal chided, "this is Hermione. Remember I told you about her? My highly intelligent, rational friend?"

Ryklef looked crushed. "You mean she's not a fan?"

"A fan of what?" Ron wanted to know.

"Twilight," replied Ryklef and Sal simultaneously.

Hermione looked vaguely ill. "You don't mean to tell me that you expected me to fall head over heels in love with you because you're dressed up as Edward Cullen?"

"Well, yes," admitted Ryklef, looking sheepish. "It works on all the muggle girls - and a lot of the muggle borns."

"Really?" asked Sal.

"Okay, most of them," responded Ryklef. "Here, I'll show you. Just give me a moment to refresh my sparkle. He pulled out an aerosol can, shook it, and sprayed a glittery mist all over himself. "Now watch...and learn." He stepped out from the shadows into the sunlight and there was an immediate reaction from several young women in the vicinity.

"Gasp! Edward!"

"Oh! It's really him! I knew he was real!"

"Look at me, Edward! I'll be your Bella!"

"No! Look at me! My name actually IS Bella!"

"No, it isn't! It's Gertrude! Look at her driver's license! Pick me! I won't lie to you!"

"I love you, Edward! Let's have a hybrid baby together!"

Ryklef accepted all of this attention with a tiny half-smile. "Now, now, ladies. I'm plenty hungry enough for all of you."

"Ryklef!" shouted Sal. "Behave yourself."

Ryklef sagged, only adding depth to his performance of pseudo teen angst. "Sigh. Very well. Just one little snack?"

Sal grabbed his arm and began leading him away. "Come on, Eddie. You don't want to be late for Biology. Bella would be so disappointed." A chorus of mournful sighs followed them as they walked towards the far end of Diagon Alley, towards Gringotts.

They hadn't made it more than halfway there before they ran into Professor Snape exiting the apothecary shop. "Professor Slytherin! What do you think you're doing here?" he demanded.

Sal smiled winningly. "I've got some financial affairs to sort out, and I thought Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley would enjoy an educational field trip."

"I thought I gave y-Potter a detention yesterday. Shouldn't you be ensuring he shows up? McGonagall will not be pleased." Snape hissed.

"Oh, don't worry about her," Sal assured him. "She was busy, so I volunteered to oversee Potter's detention myself. It's much more efficient this way. I promise to keep a careful watch on him. Never let him out of my sight."

Ryklef looked around, curious. "I thought you said the boy's name was Ron."

Ron rolled his eyes. "I am Ron. Harry is...someone else."

Ryklef rolled HIS eyes. "Well, that clears everything up."

Sal began to look a bit nervous. "I'd love to chat, but I really have pressing business to attend to. We'll catch up later, Ryklef! Come along, Miss Granger! Mr. Weasley. Let's go practice your Goblin etiquette."

Snape cleared his throat and loomed over the three of them, blocking their path. "Not so fast, Professor. I believe I should accompany you. After all, two chaperones are better than one - especially when dealing with Gryffindors. You never know what kind of...trouble they'll get themselves into."

Sal swallowed nervously. "Do you really think that's necessary? I am, after all, a Founder."

Snape smirked. "We wouldn't want Potter to think he's getting off easy now, would we?"

"No," Sal muttered. "I suppose not." He led the way to Gringotts with considerably less bounce in his step.

* * *

 _ **WARNING! SPOILERS AHEAD! THE FOLLOWING SECTION WILL REVEAL PERTINENT INFORMATION/PLOT TWISTS/ENDINGS FROM THESE STORIES/FILMS: THE PRINCESS BRIDE, CITIZEN KANE, STAR WARS, STAR TREK, THE AMAZING SPIDERMAN 2, THE NOTEBOOK, SOYLENT GREEN, THE SIXTH SENSE, THE WIZARD OF OZ, PSYCHO, IRON MAN, and PLANET OF THE APES (not necessarily in that order). If you want to avoid learning plot twists of any of these movies/stories, skip to the next line break.**_

"Hello," Sal greeted the goblin at the front desk. "I wish to access my vaults."

"Name?" asked the goblin in a bored monotone.

"Slytherin, Skywalker, and Stark," replied Sal.

The goblin's head shot up, his eyes wide. "Those are vaults 4, 5, and 6. You realize that two of those vaults are password protected?"

"Yes, like my cousin's computer," said Sal. "Much safer. Keys can be lost, but passwords are always safe inside my head."

The goblin looked doubtful. "Very well. Griphook! Escort our guests to the Founders Level."

Hermione turned to Sal. "You have the fourth, fifth, and sixth vaults here?"

"Well, yes," replied Sal. "It was actually Rowena's idea to use goblin financialists, though the interest rates back then were terrible. Still, after all these centuries, it should've added up."

After a nauseatingly lengthy trip to the deepest levels, past a dragon and a chimera, the cart came to an abrupt stop outside a deceptively nondescript door. "Vault Six," announced Griphook.

The company of four stumbled out of the cart and approached the door. Sal looked at his companions. "You may want to cover your ears," he suggested.

Snape scoffed, "Worried we'll sneak in later and clean you out, Slytherin?"

"Suit yourself. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Sal addressed the door in a loud, clear voice. "Soylent Green is people."

"What?!" cried Snape. "They were feeding them people? That's disgusting!"

Sal glanced back at him. "Oh, you're familiar with that one?" He turned back to the door and continued. "Obadiah is secretly using Tony's data to build weapons."

"No!" cried Snape. "He can't do that! It's...unethical and...illegal! Tony trusted him!"

Sal glanced back again. "I take it you never saw the end of that film? Oh well. Do you mind if I finish here? I've got one more before it opens."

Hermione tapped Sal on the shoulder. "Your password is a series of spoilers?"

"Muggle spoilers," corrected Sal, "For movies that hadn't happened yet. Clever, isn't it? The planet of the apes is really Earth."

"Impossible!" cried Snape. "Apes are physically incapable of human speech. You made that one up."

"Actually, Professor Snape," interrupted Hermione, "That one is true."

Snape looked disgruntled as the vault doors swung open, surprisingly silent after so many centuries of disuse. Not three seconds later, gold began spilling out into the passageway.

"Whoops!" said Sal. "I don't think we'll be able to enter this one." He turned to Griphook. "Is there a way to…" he motioned to the scattering galleons "shove it back in? Maybe if we close the doors really fast afterwards?"

Griphook looked down his nose at Sal - not an easy feat, as he was considerably shorter than the Founder - and wordlessly handed him a bag.

Sal looked down at the bag in his hands. "I suppose not. I'll just...scoop this up then?" Ten minutes and four bags later, they managed to close the doors to Vault #6 and move on to #5.

As Sal approached the doors, Snape caught his arm. "Perhaps, we should have wands at the ready?"

"Right," Sal agreed. "Containment charms." He pulled out his wand and addressed the doors. "This one is a lot more complicated. Might want to plug your ears this time, Snape."

"I can take it," Snape sneered.

"Darth Vader is Luke's father."

"No. That's not true. That's impossible!" cried Snape.

Hermione actually dared to pat him consolingly on the back. "Search your feelings," she said. "You know it to be true."

Sal could not contain his laughter, despite the quelling looks Snape was shooting at him. Ron, completely lost, just shrugged.

Sal eventually recovered enough to speak the next part of the password. "Rosebud was his sled. Wesley is the Man in Black. Spock was reborn on Genesis."

"What?!" Snape shouted. "But...does Kirk know? Did they just leave him there?"

Sal held out a hand, placatingly. "Don't worry. Spock transferred all of his memories to McCoy, and they went back and found Spock and got the memories restored." He turned back to the doors again. "Dorothy dreamed it all after a nasty bump on the head. Dr. Malcolm Crowe is dead. Norman's mother is the killer, and his mother has been dead all this time. The notebook is their story."

"And she doesn't remember?" Snape looked dismayed. "But theirs is such a beautiful love."

Sal looked at him oddly. "You've seen The Notebook?"

"Read it, actually," sniffed Snape. "It was in the bargain discount bin, but it was missing the final chapter. I haven't had the time to find a complete copy yet."

"Riiiight. Moving on. Gwen Stacy dies."

"Nooooo! They were made for each other! Peter loved her! He was going to move to England to be with her!" Snape collapsed on the floor in tears. "How could they?"

Fortunately, Hermione seemed to be ready for this reaction. She quickly cast a containment charm as the vault doors swung open. Nothing spilled out. In fact, the vault seemed to have plenty of room. Her shoulders drooped as she realized she felt a bit disappointed.

"Oh right," said Sal. "This one didn't have money in it. Just artifacts. And some personal notes."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Notes? As in diaries? Books? Factual records?"

"More like research," said Sal. "Nothing terribly exciting. Just a few new spells and potions and the meaning of life, the universe and everything."

Hermione looked as if she might explode with eager anticipation. In fact, Ron suspected that might be a bit of drool at the corner of her mouth.

"Just kidding about that last part," laughed Sal. "I just took a roll of parchment and scrawled '42' all over it."

"Not funny." Hermione glared at him reproachfully.

Snape made a point of checking his watch. "If we don't hurry this up, we'll be late for dinner."

"Right. I'll just pop in and grab one little thing," promised Sal. "To tide Hermione over until we have more time." He quickly entered the vault and grabbed a small, leather book before exiting again and closing the doors. "Everything seems to be in order. Shall we proceed?"

 _ **YOU MAY CONTINUE READING NOW!**_

* * *

Griphook stepped forward and held out his hand. "Your key, sir?"

Sal reached into his pocket and pulled out a large, shiny, brass key and placed it in Griphook's palm. The goblin stared at it a moment before saying, "Mint condition. Interesting." Everyone watched as he slid the key into the lock of Vault #4 and opened the doors.

Standing on tiptoe at the back of the group, Ron's first comment was: "Is this it? I can't see anything."

 _Stabby mice! Sour crickets! Crunchy slugs!_ Sal swore in Parseltongue. _Spawn of an oversized earthworm!_ He marched into the vault and did a full 360 degree turn, taking in the emptiness of the room that was accentuated by the occasional cobweb. "They've taken everything but this bit of old cloth!" He bent over to retrieve a dusty bit of linen from the floor only to immediately drop it again in fright. "Save me!" he cried as he ran to cower behind Snape.

"What on earth is the matter?" asked Hermione. She started forward to peek under the cloth, but Ron held her back.

"Better watch out, Hermione," he said. "There are all sorts of nasty things that hide in old places like this. When I was five, Mum was cleaning out the attic and found an actual lethifold." Everyone looked at Ron in shock. "It was only a baby, but still...can't be too careful."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If it were a lethifold, it would've died of starvation by now." She plucked up the cloth to reveal a large painting of a woman with a very...unfortunate face. "Dorcas Wimpleweaver?"

The portrait blinked up at her. "Who are you? Was that my ZarZar just now? Sometimes I think I've seen him, but it always turns out to be just a dream. Is this a dream?"

"No," said Hermione. "I'm really here."

Dorcas brightened. "Oh! Are you my descendant?"

Hermione turned a bit green at that. "Er...no. I'm here with-"

"Don't!" Hissed Sal. "Don't say my name!"

"-Professor Slytherin," finished Hermione.

"ZarZar?" Dorcas called. _Oh, other half of my serpentine soul! How I've missed you! Come closer, and let me gaze upon your beautiful visage once more._

Everyone looked to Sal to translate what was obviously a gushing monologue in parseltongue, but he ignored them all and marched up to the portrait with an expression of righteous indignation. "Don't you ZarZar me, you...you...person of dubious heritage! How dare you invade my vault? How dare you steal my gold? How dare you steal my name and besmirch my reputation? Do you have any idea what your heirs have done?"

Dorcas seemed not to notice his fury. "Our heirs, you mean, my sweet. I bore them in your honor. Salazar Junior was always yours in my heart."

"Salazar Junior?" Sal was on the verge of becoming apoplectic. "Who names their kid Salazar Junior? I've met dogs with better names! Nay! I've met hamsters with better handles than that!"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Need I remind you that your name is Salazar?"

Sal turned to look at him in exasperation, "It wasn't my idea!" Turning back to the portrait on the floor, he resumed his tirade. "What are you doing in my vault?"

Dorcas sighed. "I'm not supposed to be here. When I had myself added to your portrait, it was hanging up in Hogwarts. Then we had a little misunderstanding, you left, and that horrid Ravenclaw woman banished me here to the family vault."

Sal looked horrified. "You had yourself added to my portrait? _You_ had _yourself_ added to _my_ portrait? Where did _I_ go?"

Dorcas shrugged. "I don't know. You've been gone so long. It's all right now, though. We're together again. Oh, em _brace me, my sweet! We will warm this cold, bare vault with our love_!" The latter half of Dorcas' declaration was lost to the majority of the group as she slipped into parseltongue.

Sal's entire body shuddered with horror before he straightened up to his full height, pointed his wand at the offensive canvas, and cast the most impressive incendio that Snape had ever seen. (And between you and me, that's saying something.) "You can warm this cold, bare vault with your own ashes, you vile worm! Go back to the shadow!"

"Nooooooooooooo!" The portrait of Dorcas Wimpleweaver wailed in agony as the flames devoured her oil, pigment, canvas, and frame until there was nothing left but ash.

"I feel so much better now!" Declared Sal. "That was so...liberating! I'm almost sorry there was just the one portrait." He turned to face his shocked companions. "I'm free. I'm finally, totally, one hundred percent free. No. I cannot rejoice in this sweet victory while others live under the tyranny of painted harpies! I must go. There is work to be done."

He rushed out of the vault and commandeered the cart, sending it and himself up to the surface without his companions. They turned to look at Griphook, who merely rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers to call another cart. It arrived in just two seconds, but Sal's cart was already out of sight.

Snape turned to Griphook as everyone climbed aboard. "Can we catch up with him?"

Griphook nodded. "Hang on tight. We'll have to increase the speed from swift to supersonic."

Snape nodded once to confirm he understood and then proceeded to cast a shield charm around the cart. "This should prevent any unfortunate side effects."

"Side effe-?" Ron started to ask.

"He means bursting eardrums!" interrupted Hermione as they zoomed up the winding track.

"Not to mention eyeballs!" added Snape. "Now what part of 'hang on' did you not understand?"

Everyone renewed their grips on the sides of the cart as they careened through the caverns toward the surface.

* * *

Despite their death-defying speed, the occupants of the second cart arrived at the bank's lobby just as Sal was exiting through the main doors. "Hurry!" he shouted to Ron and Hermione. "He's not going to give me the slip!" The two Gryffindors raced after Sal as he ran out the doors, down the street, through the Leaky Cauldron, and into Muggle London. In his full wizarding robes. Snape quickly shed his outer robe and tossed it at Hermione. "Take this and floo back to the castle! Use the password 'Spangles'!" he instructed before hurrying after the crazed Founder.

Snape followed Sal all the way to a paint supply shop. "I need a can of turpentine! Stat!" Sal demanded of the bewildered clerk behind the counter as he slapped a galleon down in front of him.

The clerk, not wanting to take his eyes off what was obviously a dangerous lunatic, did not dare to check the validity of the currency before handing the man the nearest can of turpentine. "Thereyouaresirhaveanicedaypleasecomeagain!" he blurted out in one breath - having been chastised by management earlier in the day for not reciting the "necessary pleasantries of commerce" - and then he slumped in relief when Sal grabbed the can and ran out the door with a shout of "Keep the change! For freedom!"

Snape nearly caught up with him at the next corner, but a large group of small children in matching uniforms swarmed into the space between Sal and his pursuer. "Out of my way, you halfwits!" he snarled as he waded through the youngsters.

"Shame on you, sir!" shouted one of the adult chaperones. "The proper term these days is 'mentally challenged'." But Snape didn't have time to debate the importance of political correctness. His detentionee was escaping.

Thankfully, he caught up with Sal back in the Leaky Cauldron in time to hear him shout "Number 12 Grimauld Place!" at green flames. ' _Now what is he doing?'_ Thought Snape as he watched Sal disappear into the floo. Snape followed suit and arrived in the kitchen of the Noble House of Black to find Sal neatly sidestepping a confused Sirius.

Sirius turned to Snape. "What's going on? Who is that guy?"

"A man on a mission of dubious judgment," replied Snape. He and Sirius followed Sal to the foyer. The crazed Founder gleefully ripped the curtains from Mrs. Black's portrait and grinned maniacally at the irate occupant.

"Who are you? How dare you disturb this house? I won't have any more mudbloods and traitors in these halls! I won't stand for it!" she shrieked.

"Hello," Sal addressed her in a pleasant tone. "My name is Salazar Slytherin. You annoyed my godfather. Prepare to die."

"What? You can't kill me! I'm a portrait! I can never die! You don't frighten me!"

"Very well then!" shouted Sal, turning from pleasant greeter to intimidating opponent. "To the pain."

"To the what?" Asked Walburga and Sirius simultaneously.

"I got that reference," Snape pointed out smugly. Sirius shot him a look of irritation before turning back to hear Sal's answer.

"I'll explain, and I'll use small words so you'll be sure to understand, you warthog-faced buffoon. 'To the pain' means the first thing you lose will be your feet, below the ankles. Then your hands, at the wrist. Next, your nose. The next thing you lose will be your left eye, followed by your right."

"And then my ears, I suppose?" sneered the portrait.

"Wrong!" shouted Sal. "Your ears you'll keep, and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe who weeps at your approach, every woman who cries out, 'Dear Merlin! What IS that thing?' will echo in your perfect ears. That is what the pain is. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever."

Walburga stared at him. "I think you're bluffing."

"Possibly," admitted Sal. "It's conceivable, you miserable, vomitous mass, that I'm only standing here speaking to you because I lack the power to even singe your frame. Then again, perhaps I have something better up my sleeve. I'm willing to bet you've had your portrait protected against all magical means of destruction. Never once considering the possibility that you might meet some...more...muggle mishap." He twisted the top off the can in his hand, conjured a rag, and poured some turpentine onto it. "Let's test it on the scenery first, shall we?" Raising the dampened, pungent rag to the canvas, he swiped the lady's chair out of existence.

"Oh!" cried Walburga. "What? How did you do that? What dark magic is this?"

"No magic," beamed Sal, brandishing his rag of doom. "Just muggle ingenuity." He then proceeded to fulfill his promise, one body part at a time, as his victim shrieked in agony. Soon, all was quiet, and the three men stared at the twitching pair of ears in the middle of a white canvas.

"Well," said Sirius. "That was...um...could you maybe…?" he gestured at the ears.

"Oh, sure!" said Sal. "They are a little creepy." He finished off the rest of Walburga Black with a happy sigh of satisfaction.

"Who are you really?" asked Sirius.

"No one of consequence," replied Sal.

"I must know," insisted Sirius.

"Get used to disappointment, Snuffles" said Sal. Then he turned to Snape. "Shall we head back, Professor? It's nearly time for dinner. McGonagall will have our hides if we don't show."

"You never show," Snape pointed out. "And I don't have much appetite since those blasted buttocks made their appearance." Nevertheless, he herded Sal out the front door and down the street to a shadowy spot where they could apparate away undetected.

Sirius watched them go with equal parts wonder and admiration. Then he turned back to the blank canvas on the wall. "This is the best day ever."

* * *

 **ZA: I obviously don't own William Goldman's** _ **Princess Bride**_ **, or its wonderful 'To the pain' speech, but Sal could never resist a good movie quote in the proper context. Also, the reason why Sal hates Dorcas's pet name for him is because it sounds too much like JarJar Binks.  
**


	12. Pay up, pretty boy!

**ZA: Yaaaaaaaawn! Streeeeetch! Sigh. This chapter is going to be rather funny.**

 **Crispy: I must say I've been looking forward to this one for a while now.**

 **ZA: We shall be introducing a new character. After all the crud with the...no, I don't want to spoil anything.**

 **Sal: Oh! I've never been in this section of the story before! I love what you've done with the place. Is that clutter early 21st Century?**

 **Crispy: Don't be cheeky.**

 **Sal: But I do it so well. Oh, all right. No need to give me that look. Ahem. Zsugami Alba does not own Harry Potter. The novel series, that is. Nor me, I suppose. My character concept...my sparkling personality…**

 **Crispy: Yes, yes, you're fabulous. Now go away.**

"Speech"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

 _ **Excerpts from The Book**_

Chapter 12: Pay up, pretty boy!

 **Esteemed Hogwarts Founder Moons Students for Centuries!**

By Sarah Picklewinks

Earlier this month, members of the Department of Mysteries, funded by an anonymous source, made their way to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to settle disputes over the accuracy of the new book _**Hogwarts: An Unabridged History**_. (For more on this book, see page 4.)

The invisibility charm on the ceiling of the Great Hall was removed to reveal the image of Hogwarts Founder Godric Gryffindor, as mentioned in Chapter 12. Ministry workers then proceeded to preserve the prominent posterior for posterity. They estimate a minimum of two weeks before they can safely re-apply the invisibility charm.

"I think it's delightful to discover new secrets of the castle. She's always surprising us," says current Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Others are not so pleased.

"It's indecent! There are innocent children who dine in this hall three times a day. They should not be exposed to the vulgarities of foolish men. It's put me quite off my feed, I must say," rails Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.

"I don't know," says Hogwarts Librarian Madame Pince. "They're a rather nice pair, as buttocks go, though Poppy [Hogwarts' Madame Pomfrey, matron healer] claims she's seen better." Madame Pomfrey could not be reached for comment.

When asked for his opinion, Potions Master Severus Snape said, "What else would you expect from a Gryffindor? You'd never find a Slytherin publicly exposing himself in such a manner."

The new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, a man claiming to be Salazar Slytherin himself, has a very unique opinion on the ceiling art. "Naturally, Godric's actions were ill-advised. The results did, however, inspire the creation of the beautiful ceiling we have today. All's well that _**ends**_ well, I say. Slytherin House is proud to claim Denmark as their own." It should be noted that Godric Gryffindor's Denmark-shaped mole is positioned directly over the Slytherin table. For exclusive photos of the artifact in question, see pages 2, 3, and 4.

* * *

Sirius Black's face erupted in a triumphant grin. "Remus, pay up."

"What?" asked Remus, looking up from his tea and toast.

"Pay up. The buttocks are real! Real, I say!" Sirius thrust his copy of the Daily Prophet under Remus' nose, opened to pages 2 and 3. "Those most definitely weren't clouds, and you owe me ten sickles!"

Remus took the paper, gazing in horror at the panoramic photo of giant buttocks spread over two pages of newspaper. He turned to the front page and read the first paragraph of the headline article. "'Funded by an anonymous source'?" He narrowed his eyes at his gleeful friend. "Why do I have a feeling that you're behind this?"

"Ha! _**Behind**_?" snickered Sirius. "Pun intended, _**Moony**_?"

Remus rolled his eyes. "You've always been partial to rude humor, Padfoot." He sighed and reached into his pocket for his money pouch. He counted out ten sickles and laid them in Sirius' outstretched hand. "There. Now may I eat my breakfast in peace?"

"Of course. I'll leave you to enjoy a very peaceful breakfast as I take care of some unfinished business." Sirius made to leave the kitchen when Remus' voice brought him to a halt.

"Wait! Exactly what business do you have to attend to?" Remus asked in a warning tone.

"I must collect my winnings, of course," explained Sirius. "You don't think you were the only one in on the bet, do you?"

Remus frowned, "No, but surely you don't intend to track down everyone. Some of them have passed on, and most of the others believe you're an escaped murderer. You can't just go marching into the Ministry of Magic and demand Amelia Bones hand over five galleons. You'll be arrested on the spot."

Sirius slumped at that. "Hmm. I suppose you're right. I'll have to settle for sending her an owl. No, wait!" he grinned, a sign he had just come up with a very bad idea. "I'll send a howler! By parrot! That should throw them off."

"Where are you going to get a parrot?" Remus asked.

"I keep some on the roof. I've been using them to correspond with Harry. They're very agreeable birds. I've even been able to teach them simple phrases." He frowned, "Though some of them are a bit cheeky." He giggled. " _ **Cheeky**_. I _**crack**_ myself up."

Remus groaned and proceeded to ignore Sirius for the remainder of the morning.

* * *

Neville stared at the red envelope in trepidation. "It's not from Gran. I don't recognize the handwriting. Who could be sending me hate mail?" In the next instant, the envelope rearranged itself into an angry mouth.

"Neville Longbottom, as a direct descendant of Frank Longbottom and Alice Longbottom nee Fortescue, you are hereby called upon to settle the matter of debts incurred during their fifth year at Hogwarts! Please see the enclosed documents verifying their incorrect wagers regarding the presence of buttocks on the ceiling of the Great Hall! The total amount is 15 galleons and 5 sickles!"

The envelope then proceeded to spit out two handwritten bits of parchment detailing the aforementioned wager. The delivery bird, a lovely macaw, squawked, "Pay up, pretty boy!" Most of the occupants in the Great Hall burst into laughter which quickly died away as more parrots came flooding through the windows to land before various students and professors. The Hall was filled with a cacophony of shouted orders for prompt payment of varying amounts. The last and loudest of them all hovered before Professor McGonagall.

"Professor Minerva McGonagall! I demand restitution for unwarranted detentions that were assigned based on the erroneous assumption that the buttocks on the ceiling of the Great Hall were a figment of my depraved imagination! You will stand before the entire school and publicly apologize for doubting my keen observational skills and attempting to stifle my freedom of speech and search for the truth!"

McGonagall rolled her eyes. "Oh, what absolute rubbish," she muttered as she set fire to the scarlet missive. She caught Snape's smirk, which refused to be smothered by her most intimidating glare. Turning away from the insufferable man, she addressed the Headmaster. "It's been nearly two weeks, Albus. Do tell me they're almost finished with this nonsense."

Dumbledore smiled serenely. "Not to worry, Minerva. I've been assured they will be gone by the start of dinner, invisibility charm back in place."

"Oh, thank Merlin! I'm quite ready to put this whole mess behind us."

Sprout giggled. " _ **Behind**_!" McGonagall turned her glare on the Herbology professor.

Flitwick staved off her impending tirade with a gentle clearing of his throat. "Ahem. Minerva, don't you have something to say before the students head off to class this morning?"

"I really don't think-" she began.

"It really isn't that unreasonable a request, Professor," Burbage pointed out. "It would set a good example for the children if the Deputy Headmistress is able to admit when she is wrong."

Looking around her, McGonagall saw that all eyes were on her. Very expectant eyes at that. "Oh, very well," she sighed. She rose from her chair and, casting a sonorus at her throat, she addressed the entire Great Hall. "I, Minerva McGonagall, do hereby apologize for wrongfully assigning detention to a student for speaking the truth." She ended the sonorus charm and turned to frown at her colleagues. "There. Are you quite satisfied?" The others all nodded.

* * *

Moody answered the door, wand raised. "What do you want?" he scowled.

Neither Tonks nor Kingsley were bothered by his gruff manner. "Wotcher, Mad Eye! We were in the neighborhood and thought we'd pop by for a chat and a cuppa."

Moody eyed them suspiciously. "So Black didn't send you?"

Kingsley adopted an expression of exaggerated innocence. "Why would he send us? We haven't seen Sirius in days.

Moody harrumphed. "It hasn't arrived yet, if that's what you're waiting for. I'm expecting it any moment, though." He cast a furtive glance at his parlor window.

"What hasn't arrived?" asked Tonks, genuinely curious. "Is there something you lot aren't telling me?"

Kingsley smiled. "You'll find out soon enough. Why don't you go put the kettle on while we wait."

The kettle had scarcely begun whistling when the fireplace lit up with green flames and a red envelope came shooting out of the floo to hover before Moody. "Here it comes," he muttered.

"Alastor Moody! On the morning of December 6th, 1978, you stated, 'If a pair of buttocks exists on the ceiling of the Great Hall of Hogwarts, I'll dress up as a flamingo dancer and do a jig in the Ministry atrium!' Now that it has been proven beyond doubt that those buttocks do exist, you are honor bound to fulfill your promise! I expect to receive proof of your display in no less than 72 hours!" When the last of the message had been delivered, the envelope blew a raspberry at Moody before exploding in noxious cloud of pink glitter.

"Flamingo dancer?" asked Tonks. "Does he mean flamenco dancer?"

"I'm sure that was Moody's intention," smirked Kingsley. "Unfortunately, he misspoke. I'm afraid now he's obligated to dress as a flamingo and dance before an audience of Ministry officials."

A snort of laughter escaped Tonks before she was quelled by both of Moody's eyes glaring at her. "Er...you poor man. Shall I fetch a camera then?"

"I'm not doing it," Moody growled. "I never made an official bet. He can't hold me to it."

"Now, Alastor," said Kingsley, "You know he won't leave it be until you comply."

"He can pester me until my dying day. I'm not making a spectacle of myself."

Tonks raised an eyebrow. "I should think that ship has sailed." Moody snarled at her. "I mean to say...er...what do you care what other people think? You never have before."

Kingsley looked sympathetic. "Don't worry, Alastor. I'm sure people will be so distracted by the costume that they'll fail to notice you're a terrible dancer."

"Nope," insisted Moody. "Not doing it."

* * *

Workers from all over the Ministry gathered in the atrium to stare in disbelief at the bizarre sight before them. Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody was dressed as a giant, pink flamingo and dancing across the floor to a light, happy tune. Jaws dropped as his gruff voice began to sing, "I feel pretty...oh so pretty...I feel pretty and witty and bright!"

When the song was over, the flamingo ducked into a nearby floo and departed in a burst of green flames. As the crowd dispersed, Kingsley Shacklebolt chuckled to himself. "Well done, Tonks. The singing was a nice touch."

\- line break -

McGonagall eyed the ceiling with disgust as she settled in to lunch at the head table. Ministry workers were already packing up equipment and readying to replace the invisibility charm when the doors to the Great Hall burst open. A dashing figure dressed in late Tenth Century robes stormed in.

"I demand to know where Salazar Slytherin is!" the man shouted as he neared the head table.

"Is that…?"

"Could it be?"

"Why not? Professor Slytherin did it."

Dumbledore stood up and faced the unexpected visitor. "Godric Gryffindor, I presume?"

"Yes," replied the visitor. "And I have come to see Salazar Slytherin. Kindly produce him at once."

McGonagall leaned in to whisper in Dumbledore's ear. "I don't think that's wise, Albus. Everyone knows Slytherin and Gryffindor were mortal enemies."

Unfortunately, her movement caught Godric's eye. He ran a hand through his fiery red hair and smiled winningly. "Why hello, fair maiden. And what might your name be?" This question was accompanied by suggestive eyebrow wagging.

McGonagall looked affronted. "I beg your pardon!"

"No pardon necessary, dear lady," said Godric. "Your beautiful visage is enough to excuse any offense."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Oh, dear Merlin," he muttered. "Another one."

Assuming Snape was looking up at something in particular, Godric also raised his eyes and spied… "My buttocks! How I've missed you!"

* * *

 **ZA: Just a note: Sal taught Godric what to say if they ever got separated. His accompanying advice was to "Speak with authority, and people will automatically follow your directions without question."**


	13. Reunited, and it feels so good!

**Mad Eye: I'd like a word with you two.**

 **Crispy: Oh, hey! Let's have Moody do it!**

 **Mad Eye: Now wait just a minute. Your readers seem to be under the impression that I dressed up as a flamingo and did a dance in the Ministry atrium. You wouldn't happen to know why that is, would you?**

 **Crispy: I plead the fifth.**

 **Mad Eye: That's an American law. It's got no validity in the magical world of Britain. Try again.**

 **ZA: Tonks did it.**

 **Tonks: Oy! Thanks a lot, Zsugami!**

 **Crispy: Wait! Before you exact your revenge, you should do the disclaimer.**

 **Mad Eye: Why don't you just have Tonks assume my likeness and do it for me.**

 **Crispy: Touchy.**

 **Tonks: (dressed as a flamingo) A fanfiction author must exercise CONSTANT VIGILANCE! and issue a proper disclaimer! Or she'll lose a buttock in the ensuing legal battle.**

 **Crispy: Who do you know who's lost a buttock?**

 **ZA: *sigh* I don't own Harry Potter. Now everybody please leave.**

"English"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

 **The Book**

 _ **Sassy's song**_

Chapter 13: Reunited, and it feels so good!

Harry took this distraction as an opportunity to slip out a side door and transform into Sal. He then reentered the Great Hall and calmly walked up to the head table. "Looking for me?"

"Sal!" cried Godric. "I missed you! And I think I was bitten."

Sal sighed. "By what?"

"A really fuzzy caterpillar," replied Godric. McGonagall stared at him in disbelief.

Sal ignored her for the moment and proceeded with his usual diagnostic process. "How big was it?"

"Really big! It was…" Godric stretched his arms wide as they could go. Then readjusted his estimate a couple of times under the weight of Sal's stare. "This big?" he said, holding his hands just a foot apart.

"A caterpillar, you say?"

"I...think so?"

"How fuzzy?"

"It was sort of fuzzy...well...not really fuzzy at all," Godric admitted. "Actually, it was more...scaly than fuzzy."

"I see," said Sal. "And...what color was it?"

"Rainbow!"

"..."

"Red and yellow?"

"And…?" prompted Sal.

"Black?"

Sal sighed again. "Which colors were touching?"

"All of them!" said Godric - as if the answer were obvious. "They were all on the same caterpillar."

Smack! Snape broke his usual expressionless demeanor and actually facepalmed.

"I meant," said Sal patiently, "what order were the colors in?"

Godric considered this for a moment. "Um...black...yellow...red…"

"Stop right there!" shouted Pomfrey. She rushed to Godric's side. "Where were you bitten?"

"My toe." He pointed to a spot on the tip of his left boot that had worn to nothing. The leather was further strained by a very swollen big toe.

Pomfrey leveled her sternest look at Godric. "You mean to tell me you've been strolling about on a foot that's been bitten by a coral snake?"

"Snake?" asked Godric.

"A non-fuzzy caterpillar," Sal clarified. "You know, we've been over this before, Godric." He turned to Pomfrey. "He's built up a sort of resistance to various venoms over his lifetime. He should be able to make it to the infirmary without any further risk."

Pomfrey nodded wide-eyed and urged Godric towards the nearest exit. Dumbledore recovered enough to call out, "Poppy! Do bring him to my office when you've sorted this out."

* * *

Professors McGonagall, Snape, and Sal were waiting with Dumbledore in his office when they heard a knock on the door. "Come in," called Dumbledore.

Godric strode in, perfectly fine and perfectly composed. McGonagall thought he looked almost regal in his bearing. Until he opened his mouth, that is.

Godric's eyes had scanned the room and alighted on Fawkes. "Oh! What a pretty bird! Does it lay eggs? Do they taste good?" Fawkes leaned away from his inquisitive hand, looking positively insulted.

"I wouldn't touch if I were you," warned Sal. "He is a male and has the tendency to poke out the eyes of creatures who offend him."

Godric withdrew his hand. "My apologies, Master…?"

"Fawkes," supplied Dumbledore.

A loud cough from a high shelf caught everyone's attention.

"Sassy!"

"Godric!"

"Sassy!"

"Godric!"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of Merlin. Here!" He quickly summoned the Sorting Hat and placed it in Godric's outstretched hands. The founder grinned widely and plopped the hat on his head.

 _ **I was a fool to ever leave your side**_

 _ **Me minus you is such a lonely ride**_

 _ **The breakup we had has made me lonesome and sad**_

 _ **I realize I love you 'cause I want you back, hey, hey!**_

 _ **Reunited and it feels so good**_

 _ **Reunited 'cause we understood**_

 _ **There's one perfect fit**_

 _ **And, sugar, this one is it**_

 _ **We both are so excited 'cause we're reunited, hey, hey!**_

Snape winced. "Just when I thought things couldn't get worse." McGonagall nodded as she looked on in growing horror.

 _ **I sat here starin' at the same old wall**_

 _ **Came back to life just when I got your call…**_

"Ah, music!" sighed Dumbledore.

"Yes, yes," interrupted Snape. "A magic beyond all we do here. Could we just get on with it, please, before my mind is scarred beyond the capacity of any obliviate?"

Sassy looked affronted. "There's just no accounting for some people's taste."

"I quite liked your song, Sassy," Godric reassured his faithful hat. "You can sing the whole thing to me later."

Sal took control of the meeting straightaway. "Godric, what are you doing here?"

"I missed you," Godric replied. "I was lonely. Rowena was buried in her books, and Helga went off to rampage with her trophy husband across the ocean."

"Really?" asked Sal. "I had no idea Helga was involved in the attempted Viking invasion of the Americas."

"What?" McGonagall was completely confused.

"Well, she grows restless, you know," said Godric. "She never could stay in one place for very long."

"Or one pub," added Sal.

Dumbledore could stay silent no longer. He'd never get answers if they kept veering off topic. "How exactly did you get here?" he asked Godric. "For that matter, I think it's high time Professor Slytherin explained how _he_ got here."

Godric and Sal looked at him. "Magic," they both said.

"Obviously," Snape drolled.

Professor McGonagall had gathered herself together enough to participate in the conversation. "Perhaps you could be more specific? Was it a spell? Ritual? Potion?"

"Yes," replied Godric and Sal.

When the others glared in frustration at them, Sal elaborated. "A combination of all three. And a bit of alchemy, but I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't spread that around. Took me years to perfect the process, and even then I was a bit off on my timing. I had to make a couple of pit stops along the way. Even wound up in Vegas at one point. No idea how that happened. Anyway…"

"I think I landed on another planet, Sal," Godric interjected. "There was an otherwordly being traveling in a blue box. He was quite charming, as was his lovely companion. Sarah Jane, I think her name was. I do so adore brunettes."

Sal looked nonplussed. "I think you managed to land yourself in an episode of Dr. Who."

"Yes! He _was_ a doctor!"

"Moving on," interrupted Dumbledore, "Why exactly have you both come to the present - or future, as I suppose you would see it?"

"Well, you've got lots of problems, haven't you?" said Sal. "Just take that horrid woman I booted out, for example. Threatening the integrity of Hogwarts with her drivel disguised as curriculum and her...pinkness." He shuddered. "Not to mention that idiot who claims to be my descendant."

"But isn't he your descendant?" asked Dumbledore. Snape and McGonagall leaned forward, keenly interested in the answer as well.

"Of course not! I've had no dalliances at any time. It is absolutely impossible for anyone to be my descendant."

"Well," began Snape, "perhaps you were...a little too deep in your cups?"

"Sweet Merlin, no!" cried Sal.

"He's right," Godric nodded. "Helga never let Sal imbibe. He was the designated apparator. We all were, actually. Helga was a lot to handle when she really got going. She was quite a woman," Godric sighed.

Dumbledore frowned. "Then how do you explain your long line of heirs? The various parselmouths that came and went? Voldemort himself, who opened your Chamber of Secrets?"

"Hasn't anyone read my book? Chapter 25: Creepy Stalker Chick," Sal explained. "She was a parselmouth, but she hid the ability in order to claim her children inherited it from me. And I didn't build that chamber. Why on earth would I hide a secret lair in a girls' toilet? And have you been down there? It's dank and moldy and...drippy. And whichever of my supposed heirs decorated the place had dismal taste. That giant statue is most certainly not me. It looks like a monkey. Actually, it looks a lot like Whimplewhatsit."

"Wimplewhatsit?" asked McGonagall.

Sal shrugged. "Creepy Stalker Chick. I can never remember her name. Anyway...there's a lot of work to be done, and you need me."

"And me!" added Godric. "I want to help, too!"

Sal looked at him and then turned to Snape. "Remind me to purchase some color by number books and the largest box of crayons I can find. We'll need to keep him busy."

* * *

Sal had to teach his third year DADA class. He decided to bring Godric with him, as he didn't dare leave his friend to his own devices. "Don't say anything, don't do anything. Just sit there and observe," he instructed Godric. Then he lifted his gaze a few inches to address Sassy. "No singing. You're distracting enough as it is. Do anything embarrassing, and I'll replace those buttons with googly eyes."

The aforementioned buttons seemed to grow to twice their normal size. "You wouldn't dare."

Sal raised an eyebrow. "With eyelashes."

"We'll be good," Godric assured him. "I haven't seen you teach a class in a while. I've always enjoyed watching you work. So what potion are they learning today?"

"Actually, Professor Snape is the Potions Master now," replied Sal. "I'm teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Helga's class?" asked Godric.

"Well, she isn't here to do it herself, is she? Besides, I'm perfectly capable."

Godric looked around the room. "If this isn't the Potions classroom, why is there a large chunk of cauldron stuck in that door?"

"It's a whimsical coat hook," sniffed Sal. "Now take your seat. My students will be here shortly."

Once the mixture of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had settled in, Sal began the lesson. "Today, we will continue our dueling practicals by practicing dodging spells. None of you is magically powerful enough to rely on shield charms yet, so the best way to avoid a spell is, as Mr. Miagi would say, 'No be there.'" Most of the children looked confused, with the exception of a couple of muggleborns who had actually seen _Karate Kid 2_.

"All right then!" Sal clapped his hands. "Godric! Time to make yourself useful. Throw a spell at me."

Godric stood hesitantly. "I thought I was just supposed to sit and observe."

"Well, I changed my mind," said Sal. "Don't worry. Just hit me with your best shot."

Godric shrugged. "All right." He stood up straight and aimed his wand. "Plures Armadillus!" he shouted. Suddenly, a barrage of armadillos shot forth from Godric's wand and hurtled toward Sal, who had just enough time to realize that he really should have seen that coming.

Surprisingly enough, Sal managed to dodge most of them, with the last armadillo just grazing his left hip. He calmly turned and transfigured a neat little pen to contain the somewhat shaken projectiles until he could find time to deal with them properly. Then he addressed his class once more.

"You're not usually going to have any idea what your opponent will use against you. However, with practice, you can eventually learn to anticipate his aim and develop the agility necessary to avoid them. Of course, as you have just seen, there is no guarantee you will be entirely successful. Multiple projectiles are particularly problematic. Thank you, Professor Gryffindor, for your demonstration of the advantage of creativity."

Godric beamed. "You're quite welcome, Professor Slytherin."

One brave student raised her hand to ask a question. "Professor Slytherin? What will happen to the armadillos now?"

"Well, Professor Gryffindor's conjurings are particularly difficult to simply vanish," Sal confessed. "However, I believe Professor Hagrid might enjoy caring for them until we can find them good homes."

The student, a rather sensitive Hufflepuff, sighed with relief. "Do you think he'd like some help taking care of them?"

"I'm sure he would, Miss Smith," agreed Sal. "In fact, I believe you have Care of Magical Creatures next, do you not? Perhaps you and your classmates would do me the favor of transporting these fellows for me?" The students eagerly nodded.

"Very well. Now pair up and practice. Use only the disarming spell - expelliarmus, you remember. We don't want any unfortunate accidents like last time. Speaking of which, does anyone know how poor Rupert is fairing? Those antlers were quite impressive. Did I remember to award points for those, Mr. Johnson?"

Johnson nodded happily. "Yes, sir! Fifty for each tine!"

"Good, good," Sal nodded. "All right, fire at will!"

For the next hour, the classroom was filled with a crisscross of lights as spells were fired across the room in opposite directions. Most of the students had trouble at first, but they eventually adapted to the point that they were successfully dodging a large percentage of spells. Sal switched pairings as soon as he noticed partners had learned each other's tells in order to teach them the differences in dueling various opponents. All in all, it was a very productive lesson. Sal was quite pleased with their progress.

"Well done, everyone! Ten points for each successfully dodged spell!" he cried.

"But Professor!" argued one girl. "We don't even know how many spells that is!"

Sal just waved her concerns away. "Not to worry. The castle is always aware. She's very detail oriented."

The students looked at one another in surprise. "She?" they murmured to each other.

"Time's up for today. Gather your things and run along to your next classes. And don't forget the armadillos, Miss Smith!"


	14. The Good, The Bad, and the Inebriated

**ZA: Vacation, church, and more church, and a sick Crispy have delayed this chapter long enough, I think.**

 **Crispy: Hear, hear! Let's get this show on the road!**

 **ZA: So...Hilmar? Disclaimer?**

 **Hilmar: Are you sure that Helga døes nøt wish tø dø this? I wøuld nøt stand in the way øf min ganske grevling før all the wørld.**

 **Crispy: She's already had her turn. We've been trying to avoid repeating ourselves. Go ahead.**

 **Hilmar: Utmerket! Zsugami Alba døes nøt øwn Harry Pøtter. Ør...a møøse?**

 **Crispy: A moose bit my sister once.**

 **ZA: That did not happen.**

 **Crispy: ...No, it didn't. I just wanted to be funny.**

 **ZA: 54,700 house points to the minion who correctly guesses the inspiration for Hilmar's name.**

 **Crispy: Hint: he is not a cheese, and Google cannot be relied upon - it will forsake thee. I recommend considering the author's personality.**

"English"

' _Thoughts'_

 _Parseltongue_

 **The Book**

Chapter 14: The Good, The Bad, and the Inebriated

SNAP!

The whole class fell silent as Neville stared in horror at the fractured remains of his wand.

Professor Slytherin rushed to the poor student's side. "What happened, Mr. Longbottom?"

"I don't know," said Neville. "I was just aiming at Ron, preparing to cast my spell, when it just cracked in half." The boy was clearly in shock, his voice barely above a whisper. "It just...died." Then he moaned, "Gran's gonna kill me! This was my father's wand!"

Professor Slytherin looked at him sharply. "Your father's wand? Why on earth are you using your father's wand? The man's still alive. This wand won't recognize you as its owner. You mean to tell me you've been performing magic with a mismatched instrument?"

Neville looked surprised by this information. "Er...yes. Gran said I have to continue Dad's legacy."

 _Stabby mice!_ hissed the professor. "Well, at least now you have an excuse to acquire a more suitable replacement. I'll contact your Gran personally and schedule a trip to Ollivander's. In the meantime, you may practice your wand movements and observe your classmates. Be sure to note the differences in techniques and which ones seem to get the best results." He patted Neville on the shoulder and started to walk away. Suddenly, he turned and leaned down to whisper in his student's ear. "And whenever you happen to pass by Professor Gryffindor's chair, would you be so kind as to complement his coloring technique? He's particularly pleased with his ability to keep his scribbles within the lines." He straightened again, winked conspiratorially at a very stunned Neville, and then turned to correct Dean's stance.

* * *

Later, in the nearly empty Gryffindor common room, Harry paced back and forth in front of the fireplace as Ron and Hermione listened to his ranting with patient ears.

"I can't believe it! Honoring his legacy? What was the daft woman thinking? Did her brains somehow migrate to the vulture in her hat?"

Hermione was too full of questions to stay silent any longer. "Why would his...er…his father's wand just snap like that?"

Harry stopped his pacing. "Well, Neville has been using that wand since his first year. It obviously decided it'd had enough and committed seppuku rather than struggle with its usurper."

Ron and Hermione simply stared at him, though Ron's stare was more one of confusion than disbelief.

Harry sighed. "Come now. You both must realize that wands have a certain amount of sentience. The wand chooses the wizard, as Ollivander says to each new customer."

Ron nodded. "That's why the new wand I got before third year worked so much better than the hand-me-down I got from Charlie."

"Exactly," said Harry, obviously pleased. Actually, he nearly awarded house points before remembering he was not in Sal form.

"But Neville seemed pretty upset," said Hermione.

"More like freaked out," said Ron.

"I hope his Gran isn't too hard on him," Hermione continued. "It wasn't his fault, after all. He can't be held accountable for the actions of a ronin wand."

Again, Harry barely kept himself from awarding an exorbitant amount of points to Hermione for extending his samurai/wand analogy. "You needn't worry about Augusta Longbottom," he said. "Professor Salazar Slytherin will put her in her place."

Hermione and Ron shared a look of trepidation but chose not to comment.

* * *

"Mrs. Longbottom," said Professor Slytherin as he gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "How are you this fine day? Please, have a seat. Make yourself comfortable. May I interest you in a cup of hibiscus tea? I'm told it does wonders for high blood pressure. The veins in your forehead seem a bit pronounced this morning. Reminds me of an uncle of mine, actually. His wife swore by this particular blend." The professor failed to explain that the aforementioned swearing was actually several offensive words muttered sotto voce and not actually an endorsement of any kind.

The matriarch of the Longbottom clan did not look the least bit inclined to accept such an ill-worded offer, though she did take her seat. "No, thank you. I'd prefer if we simply got down to business. I've no time for beating about the bush, Professor Slytherin. Why am I here?"

"Your grandson is in need of a new wand. The one you gave him has recently rendered itself unusable."

"Rendered itself? Explain," Mrs. Longbottom demanded.

"Of course," replied the professor. "You see, after over four years of being handled by a wizard not of its choosing, it finally decided upon an honorable death. It spontaneously snapped itself in half."

"WHAT?!"

"Perhaps you'd like that cup of tea now?" Professor Slytherin offered.

* * *

"She was so...supportive," said Neville, clearly still puzzled by his grandmother's unexpected behavior. "She kept smiling at me encouragingly and even clapped when I found the right one." He held his new wand up for all of his friends to see. "Cherry wood, 17" long, with a unicorn hair core," he pronounced proudly.

Hermione grinned. "Go on, Neville. Give it a wave for us."

Neville grinned back as he complied with the request, conjuring an impressively varied bouquet of flowers. He blushed and handed them to Hermione."Professor Gryffindor taught me that one."

"See?" said Harry. "As Ollivander says, 'The wand chooses the wizard.' Well...in most cases."

Hermione was instantly distracted from her flowers by the scent of fresh knowledge. "Most cases?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Er...I should not have said that. I should not have said that. Professor Slytherin made me promise not to tell anyone. Behavior unbecoming of a Founder and all that."

Ron looked impressed. "What sort of behavior would be considered unbecoming by a man who published a story about Gryffindor's buttocks?"

"Well, it involves vandalism," admitted Harry.

"And emblazoning an image of one's buttocks on the ceiling of the Great Hall isn't vandalism?" asked Hermione.

"Well, not destructive vandalism," argued Harry.

The twins immediately appeared on either side of Harry. "Did someone say…"

"...destructive vandalism?"

"Now you've done it," muttered Neville.

Harry sighed. "Oh, all right. But you must promise never to repeat this story, or reenact it in any form." He directed that last bit at the twins, using his sternest professor face.

Fred and George adopted wounded expressions. "Us? Reenacting a scene of destructive vandalism?" said George, hand on heart.

"Never," asserted Fred, holding up his right hand, the first two fingers together and the rest folded in. "Charm Scout's honor."

"You were never in Charm Scouts," said Ron, rolling his eyes.

"Au contrair, notre petit frère," said George. "We were indeed Charm Scouts."

"For a full day," agreed Fred. "I dare say they might have invited us back for a second if it hadn't been for that unfortunate incident with the marshmallows."

George nodded. "Unfortunate, but spectacular."

"Very well," said Harry. " But not here. Let's relocate to the Home Skills classroom."

"Home Skills? What class is that?" asked Hermione.

"Oh, it's not offered anymore," said Harry. "It taught practical, everyday skills using magic. Cooking, cleaning, handkerchief conjuring, garment mending...the sort of things most magical children learn from their mothers nowadays."

Hermione looked put out. "Only if their mothers are witches. What are we muggleborns to do?"

"Don't look at me," said Harry. "The class was still being taught in m- Slytherin's day."

Ron decided to interrupt before Hermione really got rolling. "We can discuss travesties in public education at a later time. Tell us about the destructive vandalism."

"Wait!" cried Fred. "Let us secure our ride first. Only take a moment." He and George hefted their new tandem bicycle and jogged up the stairs to the dorm with it.

Neville watched them go. "Draco's a bit miffed about that bicycle. He doesn't like to be outdone."

Hermione shrugged. "Their rendition of 'Bicycle Built for Two' is quite lovely."

* * *

"Helga, this just isn't working," said Rowena. "How can you properly instruct the children in defensive magic if you can't even perform spells on their level?"

Helga looked affronted. "But I've been limiting myself to spells I could do when I was their age."

"Yes," agreed Sal, "But I think we all know that you're a freak of nature."

"Sal!" scolded Rowena. She sighed. "What our friend means to say is that you are uncommonly powerful."

"Not to mention uncommonly beautiful," chimed in Godric. SMACK!

"Episky," muttered Sal, waving his wand over Godric's newly flattened nose.

Rowena continued, ignoring this perfectly routine interaction among her friends. "Most children cannot produce broad blasting spells that fell multiple foes at once - and certainly not without collateral damage. You need to teach them precision work."

"Yes," said Sal, "And that requires a wand."

"Pfft! Wands," scoffed Helga. "Useless twigs. Sir Robin's wand couldn't even stand up straight."

Rowena rolled her eyes. "Sir Robin's wand is particularly whippy, yes, but wands are only useless when wielded by useless hands. Trust me, Helga. Once we find the wand best suited to you, you'll be very pleased with the results."

"Rowena is quite right," agreed Sal. "Now put down that mug of mead and come with us to Old Ollivander. We've got an appointment. He's the best in the business, and we don't want to keep him waiting."

Helga belched a sigh. "Oh very well. I want it on record, however, that I'm complying under protest."

"Of course you are," said Rowena.

* * *

"Helga Hufflepuff sure drinks a lot in your stories," commented Ron.

"Shh! Quiet, Ronnikins!" admonished George. "Let him get to the good part."

* * *

"Ah! Miss Hufflepuff?" greeted Ollivander. "Right this way, please. Would you care for some hibiscus tea?"

Helga scowled at the wandmaker. "Let's dispense with the niceties and get on with it. Wait a minute…" She moved toward a small table in the corner and picked up an earthenware jug. Pulling the cork, she gave the contents a sniff. "Is this Floppenwell's brew?"

"Why, yes!" said Ollivander with a smile. "He gave me that in payment just this morning for his niece's new wand. Holly, eight inches, with a unicorn hair. Would you like a cup?"

"Nah," said Helga. "I'm good." She then proceeded to guzzle the alcohol straight from the jug.

Ollivander winced at the sight of his precious treat disappearing down the throat of this disagreeable woman. "Of course you are," he muttered.

Helga set the jug down again with a thud and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. "Well, Ollie, what have you got for me?"

"Right." Ollivander nodded. "Let's start with this one, shall we?" He plucked a long, narrow box from one of his numerous shelves and handed it to Helga. "Go on and give that one a wave, if you please."

Helga eyed the wand skeptically and then shrugged before twirling it over her head in a wide motion - much like a slingshot - and then releasing it. The wand flew across the room and bounced harmlessly off Ollivander's forehead.

"Yes, well…" Ollivander picked up the wand. "Perhaps not that one."

* * *

"She didn't even know how to use a wand?" Ron was incredulous. "You're pulling our legs, Harry."

Harry shrugged unapologetically. "She was used to hurling objects in combat, not spells. Bar fights were her specialty. Lots of chairs. Now if you don't mind?"

The others glared at Ron, who held up his hands and sat back, mouth firmly closed.

* * *

Helga was getting impatient. "Look, Ollie," she huffed. "This process of yours obviously isn't getting us anywhere."

Ollivander looked around his shop at the destruction that dozens of wand trials had rendered. "Perhaps you have a different method you'd like to try?" he suggested.

Helga began pulling random wands out of their slots and fiddling with them. She wiggled one to and fro and frowned at the pliancy before tossing it behind her. Sal obliged Ollivander by catching it and handing it to the poor man as Helga continued her search. The next wand she held to her ear and tapped lightly. Others she shook. A couple were even licked, much to Ollivander's horror. Finally, she had set aside three candidates.

"Tell me about this one," she commanded, pointing to the first wand.

Ollivander took a deep breath and prayed to the gods that this trial was nearing its end. "Ash, twelve inches, dragon heartstring."

"Dragon breed?" Helga inquired.

"Hungarian horntail."

"When was it harvested?"

"Three weeks ago."

Helga held up the wand and sniffed it. Then she raised an eyebrow at Ollivander.

"Ahem. Three weeks and two days ago," he amended.

Helga sniffed again. "Hm. Bear fed." She nodded approvingly and then exchanged the first wand for the second.

"Ah. Aspen, thirteen inches, unicorn hair."

Helga sneered at that last part and set the wand down. She picked up the third. "And this one?"

Ollivander paled when he suddenly recognized the wand. "Where did you find that?"

"In the secret hidey-hole you've got under the mat. What's in it?"

"Ahem. Well...that's an experimental wand that didn't really turn out well...or safe. Rowan, nine inches, with a...a manticore stinger."

Helga's eyes lit up. She placed the wand back on the table and studied all three wands side by side. "Where did you get the aspen wood?"

Ollivander breathed a sigh of relief. "I harvested that from the dark forest."

"When was it severed from the tree?"

"Well, I didn't exactly do it myself," admitted Ollivander. "The tree had been struck down by lightning, and that particular piece was already separated when I found it."

"Hmph." grunted Helga. Then she proceeded to induce a near heart attack in Ollivander as she broke off one end of the wand and pulled out the unicorn hair, letting it drift to the floor and apparently out of mind.

"What are you doing?!" he cried. He turned to Sal and Rowena for help, but they too were frozen in horror.

Helga picked up the first and third wands and gave them the same treatment. Then she inserted the dragon heartstring and manticore stinger into the aspen wand and sealed it up. Eyes alight, she turned and looked about her.

Recognizing the look in his customer's eyes for what it was, Ollivander quickly said, "You can try it out on targets out back."

Helga stepped out of the shop and strode confidently to the back of the building where three wooden targets resembling a wizard, a witch, and a centaur stood in a row. She immediately fired off three spells in rapid succession, causing each of the targets to spin 90 degrees. Then she fired off three more, and her audience watched as the heads of the wizard and witch fell off. She frowned at the centaur target. Ollivander couldn't help smirking, but one look from Helga wiped that smirk right off his face. She turned back to the target and roared loudly at it. The centaur's head tipped over and fell off.

Nodding, satisfied, Helga turned once more to address Ollivander. "How much?"

* * *

Hermione looked reprovingly at Harry. "That did not happen."

"It did!" Harry protested. "Snapped the wands right in front of him!"

"And the targets?" Ron asked. The boys all leaned forward eagerly.

"All true," Harry affirmed.

"Wow," breathed Fred.

"What a woman," breathed George.

"I know," sighed Godric.

"Oh hello, Godric," said Hermione. "What are you doing here?"

"I've found Helga!" Godric announced triumphantly. "I was taking a little walk about the castle when I heard the most angelic belch. I turned to my left, and there she was, sitting with a group of monks drinking ale. Oh, and Hilmar was there, too."

"Hilmar?" asked Neville. "Who's Hilmar?"

"Never mind this Hilmar fellow," said George. "Who's the angelic belcher?"

"Helga Hufflepuff. My dear one. The puff of my huffle," sighed Godric.

Hermione frowned. "You married Helga Hufflepuff? I don't recall reading about that in Hogwarts: A History."

Godric burst into tears. "No. She turned me down. Several times. Then she went off on that quest and came home with Hilmar. What's he got that I haven't? I'm tall. I'm blonde."

"Actually, you're a redhead," pointed out Harry.

"Well, I could be a blonde if I could just get that spell right," Godric sniffed. "Hilmar and I are practically twins. Why him, Sal?"

"Well, he does have a Norwegian accent," said Harry.

Hermione sighed dreamily. "Norwegian accents are so sexy."

All the boys turned to stare at her.

Ron glared. "Don't tell me you're still hung up on Vicky."

"He was Bulgarian," Hermione reminded him. "Very different accent. Not nearly as attractive."

"Whatever," Ron muttered.

Harry shook his head and turned back to Godric. "Where is this portrait?"

"Um...I don't remember," Godric admitted. "I got lost on my way back here three times."

"Those darn staircases," muttered Harry.

"No worries, Harry!" said Fred. "We know the monks."

* * *

"Are you sure this is the way?" asked Ron. The group was following the twins down a corridor he had never seen before. In fact, the walls and floor were grimy enough to indicate Filch had never seen it either.

"Wench! More mead! There's water left in the ocean!" called out a loud voice up ahead and to the left.

Harry grinned. "I'd recognize that line anywhere. Oy! Helga!" He hurried to the next painting and waved at the occupants. Five monks sitting around a table turned their bleary eyes to him. In the center sat a woman, face obscured by an enormous flagon. Beside her, his hand on the back of her chair, stood a tall, blonde, muscular man who nodded in acknowledgement of Harry's greeting.

"Ganske Grevling, I think there is sømeøne here tø see yøu."

The woman lowered her drink and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Now the students had an unobstructed view of a very beautiful witch with long, wavy, black hair, dark blue eyes, and a confident smirk that Harry knew to be her default expression.

"Oh look, Hilmar!" she said. "Students! I've seen few of those since we left our portrait on the fourth floor. Hello, children! Oh, and hello, Godric!"

Godric's face morphed into a rather sappy smile. "Hello, my angelic angel of angelness."

The tall blonde in the portrait frowned. "Perhaps my English is still inadequate, but I dø nøt believe that made any sense."

Godric glared at him. "Hello to you too, Hilmar," he grumbled.

Helga patted Hilmar's hand. "Your English is perfectly adequate, Thunderbuns. Godric hardly ever makes sense off the battlefield." Hilmar blushed and said nothing more, and Helga turned to address Harry. "You look awfully familiar, young man. Have we met?"

"My name is Harry Potter, madame. I probably resemble someone you once knew. The Potters go way back."

Ron leaned over to whisper in Hermione's ear. "Literally, in some cases."

Hermione ignored him and asked, "Professor Hufflepuff, what are you doing here in this part of the castle?"

Helga raised her flagon. "Having a wee little drink with some friends, of course." She turned to the monks. "What were your names again?"

One of the monks pulled out a piece of parchment and wrote a brief note on it with his quill before handing it to Helga.

"Oh, right," she said after reading it. "I'd forgotten you lot took a vow of silence."

Hermione would not be dismissed so easily. "Professor, your portrait is said to have been missing for over 300 years. Have you been here all this time?"

Helga turned her attention back to the Gryffindor girl. "Nonsense. I could never stay in one place for three straight centuries. Hilmar and I have been exploring the castle, making friends and enjoying our freedom. Leaving that post on the fourth floor was the best idea I ever had. The neighbors were terribly intolerant."

Hilmar nodded. "The øne named Agatha did nøt apprøve øf my Helga's vibrant persønality."

Helga's nose wrinkled as she sneered, "Kept muttering about temperance and modesty and proper ladylike behavior. What do I need all that for? I've already got me a husband, haven't I my volcanic viking?" Hilmar blushed an even deeper red, but he smiled proudly at his wife.

The twins were thoroughly enchanted by this brash, beautiful woman. "Fred and George at your service, Professor," said George. "Is it true that you made your own wand?"

Helga smiled. "Yes! Would you like to see it?" She fumbled with her robes for a moment. "Let's see...I know it's here somewhere. Hilmar? Help me out, would you?"

"Øf cøurse, min ganske grevling," said Hilmar. Then he reached over and pulled the wand out of the front of Helga's bodice.

"Ah! I knew I put it somewhere close!" Helga cried. Hermione looked scandalised, the boys all grinned, and Godric looked as if he were attempting to set Hilmar on fire with his mind.

* * *

Hermione checked her watch. "Oh, it's almost time for Charms! We'd better be going. So nice to meet you, Professor Hufflepuff, Hilmar."

Helga frowned. "Leaving already? I was so enjoying our conversation. I get precious little of that here." She aimed a disappointed look at the monks. "I do have Hilmar, but I much prefer him when he's not talking, if you know what I mean." Helga gave an exaggerated wink as she nudged Hilmar with her elbow. "Of course, it makes the monks uncomfortable."

"Why don't you go back to your own portrait for a while?" asked Harry. "The fourth floor gets lots of traffic."

Helga shuddered. "I'd rather avoid Agatha as much as possible."

"We could always relocate your portrait somewhere else," suggested Ron. "I doubt there are any rules against it. Mum rearranges the family photos at The Burrow all the time."

Helga grinned. "That's a fine idea! Ooh! Put me in the Great Hall. I want to check on my little badgers."

Fred and George matched her grin with two of their own. "Consider it done, milady!"

* * *

Fred, George, Ron, Harry, Hermione, Godric, and Neville all met up on the fourth floor after classes that day to fulfill Helga's wish.

"Shouldn't we be asking for permission?" asked Hermione.

Harry waved a dismissive hand. "Professor Gryffindor is a Founder. Who's going to veto his orders?"

The twins nodded. "Well said, Harry. Now which portrait do you suppose belongs to the Hufflepuffs?"

Harry pondered the question and then said, "Our best bet is to listen for Helga's voice. She's bound to make a ruckus wherever she goes."

Sure enough, after the group stopped and listened for a minute, they heard a loud argument nearby. They followed the shouting and found Helga and Hilmar facing a group of prim witches in Victorian garb.

"Now see here," said the lead Victorian, "You abandoned this portrait ages ago. It was quite evident to everyone here that you never intended to return. Now it is the property of the Demure Damsels Temperance Society. We have our regular devotionals here every Thursday, and we won't be removed."

"Temperance Society?" Helga asked incredulously. "The background of this portrait is a pub!"

"A constant reminder of the ever present evils of alcohol," sniffed Agatha.

"I'll show you ever present evils!" cried Helga. "I've had three centuries to warm up to the point of kicking all of your-"

"Helga!" cried Harry. "Not in front of the children."

Helga stopped short, noticing the students for the first time. "Oh, my apologies, but I'm having a bit of trouble with an infestation."

Harry turned to Godric. "If you don't mind, I think you're best suited to handle this one, old friend."

Godric smiled charmingly and cleared his throat. "Ahem. Good afternoon, ladies," he said, addressing the stubborn members of DDTS. "You are all looking particularly lovely and proper today. I must say, this portrait setting doesn't do you any justice. Wouldn't you prefer a more wholesome setting? A nice landscape, perhaps? I know of a marvelous little meadow, not far from here, with lots of flowers, sunshine, and clean air."

The ladies looked at each other, hesitating.

Godric continued. "There's a large tree for shade and a very handsome, honorable knight who would gladly provide any aid you require."

One of the ladies tugged at Agatha's sleeve. "It wouldn't hurt to try it out for a meeting or two," she said. "It is rather dim in here, don't you think?"

Agatha seemed reluctant, but nods from the other women decided the matter. "Very well. Lead the way, if you please, Sir…?"

"Gryffindor," Godric supplied helpfully. "And it will indeed be my pleasure."


	15. Midterms: Part 1

**ZA: So I've noticed that perhaps I've made things a little too hard for you. I just wanted to challenge you a little.**

 **Crispy: You're referring to the Hilmar reference?**

 **ZA: Yes. I did put clues in my profile, in case anyone would like to try again.**

 **Crispy: Meanwhile, who's turn is it this chapter?**

 **ZA: Check the schedule.**

 **Crispy: Oh, right! It's here somewhere...I think...oh no. It got a bit wet, and the ink washed out. Oops.**

 **ZA: Yeah, that's not good.**

 **Crispy: Wait. I think this says...Sal...Moody...and Hilmar...yep. That's what's missing. Give me a pen.**

 **ZA: Hannah Abbott! Disclaimer!**

 **Hannah: …**

 **ZA: Please?**

 **Hannah: Zsugami Alba does not own Harry Potter. Or any songs by Queen. Or The Rainmakers.**

Chapter 15: Midterms, Part One

Since Draco had acquired his new bicycle and developed an appreciation for muggle music, he'd found that not everyone shared his love of classic rock. More specifically, Hannah Abbott. It all began during his first week of bicycle bliss.

"Aaaare you gonna take me home tonight?

Ahhhh down beside that red firelight

Aaaare you gonna let it all hang out?

Fat bottomed girls

You make th-"

BAM! Something large and solid hit Draco square in the face as he coasted down the charms corridor, knocking him and his bicycle into the wall. Draco shook his head to clear his vision of the circling stars and birdies and looked up to see a very disgruntled Hannah Abbott glaring at him. "What was that for?" Draco asked.

"Hmph!" replied Hannah, turning on her heel and marching away. She casually summoned her copy of A History of Magic from over her shoulder, not noticing it whap Draco in the back of the head as it sailed back to her.

* * *

"Bicycle races are coming your way!

So forget all your duties, oh yeah!

Fat Bottomed Girls wi-"

BAM! CRASH! "Ow."

* * *

"Mama Mama Mama, keep your skinny girls at home

'Cause this skinny boy wants a Big, Fat Blonde!"

BAM! CRASH! "AAAAHHHH! No! Get out of the way! Not the staircase!" THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP CRASH!

Draco looked up to see a crowd of Blaise Zabinis hovering over him. "Ooh, got you on the stairs this time, eh? You might want to get up before…" The bottom of the staircase started to shift away.

"Help! Blaise!" Draco reached out a desperate hand, and Blaise grasped it and pulled Draco and his beloved bicycle to safety.

Draco had just managed to disentangle himself from the apparatus and stand up when Blaise tapped him on the shoulder. "Better hurry up. Here comes Peeves."

The two Slytherins ducked into an alcove, and Draco took a moment to catch his breath and prod the back of his head gingerly with one hand. "I don't understand it, Blaise. What did I do? Every time I pass her in the halls, she beans me with books. I don't even see her beforehand half the time."

Blaise shot him an exasperated look. "You mean you haven't figured out the pattern yet?"

Draco just looked confused.

"What are you doing directly prior to each of her assaults?" asked Blaise.

"Bicycling to class." Blaise raised his eyebrows and motioned with his hand for Draco to keep talking. "And...singing? Does she not like music? I suppose everyone's tastes vary, but I always try to stick to the classi-"

"What were you singing, Draco?"

"Um...hang on…'Big Fat Blonde'? She doesn't like The Rainmakers? But they have such clever lyrics!"

Blaise sighed. "What color is Hannah Abbott's hair?"

"Blonde. Why? What does that matter? My mother and father have blonde hair, Luna Lovegood has blonde hair, and none of them have pelted me with books."

"You were singing about big, _fat_ blondes, Draco. And the time before that, it was _fat-bottomed_ girls. And before that, it was... _more_ fat-bottomed girls. She thinks you're teasing her about her weight."

Draco thought for a moment. "But she's not fat at all. She's...shapely. And, anyway, all those songs are about how wonderful large women are. Not that Hannah is large. She's just the right size, actually."

Blaise just shook his head. "Girls, Draco. They follow their own logic."

"Oh." Draco looked glum.

"Don't worry," Blaise smirked. "She's probably so bothered by it because she likes you."

Draco looked hopeful. "Really?"

* * *

Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt leaned forward in his chair before the Headmaster's office desk. "Dumbledore, Umbridge is finally making her move. She's gathering aurors to march on Hogwarts and reposition herself as a higher authority within the school. Fudge has practically given her carte blanche."

Dumbledore frowned. "How long do we have to prepare?"

"She plans to surprise you in three days," said Kingsley.

The old man's eyes twinkled optimistically. "Well, if it's a surprise she's looking for, I shall consult with my staff about how best to accommodate her."

* * *

"Three days!" cried McGonagall. "That's hardly any time to prepare a legal defense."

Slytherin snorted, "Forget legal defense. I've got a much better idea. I've been meaning to discuss this with you all, actually."

Flitwick looked at their newest/oldest professor askance. "You were expecting this?"

"Of course. I did boot her from the premises quite violently. I'm still apologizing to Bane for dropping her into centaur lands. That fellow sure can hold a grudge. Of course, she did manage to cannonball right into the middle of their favorite watering hole. Seems I did make a hole in one after all."

McGonagall rolled her eyes. "Do be serious, Professor Slytherin."

"I'll have you know I take my golf game very seriously," he replied. "Anyway, as I was saying, I think it's about time we reinstated the tradition of midterms."

Sprout looked curious. "Midterms? What are those?"

Gryffindor looked up from his Babbity Rabbity coloring book. "Oh, I loved midterms! Will we be inviting the muggles?" he asked, to the surprise of the rest of the staff.

"I think not," said Slytherin. "Too many regulations restricting muggle/magical interaction."

Godric frowned. "I was looking forward to seeing who'd win free drinks this year."

* * *

Professor Dumbledore arrived early to breakfast the following morning to find a large crowd gathered around the head table. As he made his way to the center of the group, he discovered his chair was already occupied by a large portrait. Professor McGonagall turned at his approach, an exasperated expression on her face. "There you are, Albus! Someone has unearthed the portrait of Helga Hufflepuff, and she's demanding to be installed here in the Great Hall."

"Helga Hufflepuff? My, my...Founders are practically crawling out of the woodwork these days." Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I see no objection to keeping her portrait here."

Minerva sighed heavily, as if on her last nerve. "That's because you haven't met her yet. I'm not entirely convinced the woman _is_ Helga Hufflepuff. She's a menace! And a lush! And that husband of hers is not helping!"

Albus took a closer look at the portrait in question. The central figure within the gilt frame was an attractive witch. She looked a bit like a younger Minerva - from the days between graduating from Hogwarts and beginning her professorship. The brunette waved a flagon in greeting. "Hello! You must be Headmaster…" she snapped her fingers several times. "No, don't tell me...er...Byron! How are you, Byron!" She turned to the tall, blonde monolith beside her and whispered, "His name is Byron, isn't it?"

The monolith smiled indulgently and whispered back, "I'm sure it must be, min ganske grevling."

Albus chuckled and replied, "Please, call me Albus."

Helga frowned. "That's an odd nickname for Byron." Then she shrugged. "Meh. To each his own, eh, Byron?"

"Of course, Madame," he answered congenially. "I understand you wish to be installed here?"

"Oh yes!" she cried. "I want to be where the action is. I like to keep an eye on my little badgers - make sure they're living up to the Hufflepuff reputation. Mealtime gatherings are the best place to establish one's position in society. Why, I remember the first feast we held here after we built the castle. My students already making connections, breaking bread...and bones...threatening each other with butter knives and armwrestling for the last chicken wing." She sighed. "It was glorious. I won, of course. Important to assert one's authority early on. Establish a standard of performance. Teach by example, and all that. Godric was in the hospital wing for a week."

"Er...yes," mumbled Albus. "Where exactly did you wish to be hung?"

Helga peered about the edges of her frame. "This seems to make a very nice easel. The view is excellent, and the location properly reflects my authority."

Albus frowned. "Well, yes, however...I'm afraid that chair is reserved for the current headmaster."

"Oh?" Helga raised an imperious eyebrow. "And how did you earn it?"

Minerva scoffed. "By defeating Gellard Grindelwald, a powerful dark wizard."

Helga frowned. "Just the one? Was he at least immortal? Or...nearly? Could he turn into a dragon? Was he a cannibal? Necromancer? Did he have a ring that could subjugate nations?"

Minerva looked nonplussed. "Er...no."

"Then perhaps Byron had to conquer insurmountable odds in order to even reach the dueling field? Was there lava involved? Did he lose any body parts? Did he leave a trail of nostrils behind him?"

"What?!" Minerva was flabbergasted. "How would one leave behind a trail of nostrils? Aren't they defined by their absence?"

Helga shrugged. "Poetic license. You do have your own epic poem, don't you?" She aimed that last question at Albus, but his failure to formulate a coherent response was fortunately masked by the arrival of Professor Slytherin.

"Helga, epic poetry is a lost art. These days, the best you can hope for is a made for TV movie. Now stop challenging Professor Dumbledore's authority. We'll hang you behind and above the staff table. Very intimidating."

Helga nodded in satisfaction, and Albus immediately drew his wand and placed her there himself. "Thank you, Byron! That will be all!" She surveyed her new domain. "Holy hip flask! Is it just me, or do they get smaller every century? Adorable little anklebiters, though, aren't they? Hello, children!"

* * *

The morning meal was in full swing when Sal set down his teacup, dabbed his mouth with a napkin, stood up on his chair, and pulled a miniature gong from his pocket. Ignoring Snape's curious look, he casually tapped the gong with his wand. **BOOOOOONNNNGGGG!** The entire hall vibrated with the sound waves from Sal's magical pocket gong, and all eyes turned to the staff table.

"Excellent!" said Sal. "Now that I have everyone's attention, I have an important announcement to make. All classes are canceled today and tomorrow!" He waited a few moments until the cheers died down before continuing. "This gives you two whole days to prepare yourself for a ginormous, multi-course, practical exam on Thursday. You will be graded on your performance, so don't slack off now!" He beamed down at hundreds of horrified faces. "That is all. As you were."

Sal stepped down to the floor and reseated himself to enjoy the rest of his breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the panic he had just caused.

Snape rolled his eyes and sipped calmly from his own teacup. "You do realize the Ravenclaws will have your head for this?" he warned his colleague.

Sal grinned. "Ravenclaws under pressure are my favorite part of midterms. They come up with the most random, creative solutions that way. Besides, I'm not their head of house."

Snape smirked. "Don't forget the honorary Ravenclaw residing in Gryffindor Tower." It took a great deal of effort to refrain from laughing outright at the expression his words elicited from the normally unflappable Professor Slytherin.

* * *

"All right, Harry, Ron, here are your color coded study schedules. Memorize them, tattoo them on your foreheads, staple them to your robes...just don't lose them!" Hermione looked nine kinds of frazzled as she thrust large sheets of parchment in their general direction.

Ron studied his copy with obvious concern. "You've not allowed any time for meals...or sleep...or bathroom breaks."

Hermione didn't appear to have heard him. "We can focus on basic review for most of our classes, but it's really impossible to predict what the Divination portion of the test will entail. Oh dear! Where is my quill? Where on earth is my quill?!"

Ron and Harry just stared at her for a moment as she started turning in circles with ever-increasing speed, trying to locate her errant writing instrument until Ginny reached over and plucked it out of the back of Hermione's messy bun, causing her hair to explode into a cascade of frizzy curls dotted with blue ink.

"Oh thank you, Ginny!" Hermione sighed. Then she rounded on the two boys. "What on earth are you doing just standing there? Books! Books! Now!"

Harry and Ron shared a look before Harry cleared his throat. "Er, Hermione? We really don't need to -"

"Don't need? DON'T NEED?! THERE'S PLENTY OF NEED AND NOT NEARLY ENOUGH TIME!" Hermione was three shades of red and heading straight for a complete mental collapse.

Ginny pulled out her wand and pointed it at their panicking friend. "Petrificus Totalus." Hermione went rigid and collapsed back onto the sofa behind her. "Let Harry finish."

"Thanks, Ginny," said Harry. "What I meant to say is that there's a reason they only gave us two days warning. They're testing how much knowledge we've managed to retain so far, not how much we can cram into our heads for the immediate future. The two days aren't for learning new things, or even reviewing. We're meant to spend this time preparing to apply all we've learned." Sensing Hermione's panic had receded in the face of her need to process this new information, Harry performed the counterspell that would grant her full mobility once more.

"When you say 'preparing to apply'...?" she asked.

"I would start by taking stock of our strengths and gathering useful supplies. Prepare a...bag of tricks, so to speak. Something that you can have at your disposal to handle any magical predicament in which you might find yourself."

Ron started to get that look. The one he always got right before he trounced Harry at chess. "You mean, they want to know how we would handle a magical situation with what we already know?"

Harry nodded. "Yes. Also, I'll let you in on a little secret." He motioned for his friends to lean in closer. "Peeves became a resident of Hogwarts as a direct result of one slightly overprepared but overconfident sixth year during a midterm exam." At the others' shocked expressions, he added, "Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Wickham was never one to consider long-term repercussions."

Ron's eyes were wide as dinner plates. "You mean, he was brought here on purpose? He's doing what he was originally intended to do?"

"Yes," said Harry. "It was an extremely effective strategy short-term, but points were docked for...what's the technical term?...Ah! Irrevocable spellwork." He nodded. "Actually, a lot of the more...inconvenient aspects of Hogwarts were created during midterms. Moving staircases, trick steps, fake doors, the Forbidden Forest…"

Hermione's eyebrows rose so high they threatened to take flight. "You're not seriously expecting us to believe that students created an entire forest for a test?"

"Oh no!" Harry hurried to correct. "The forest was already there. It just wasn't nearly as dangerous. The first years used to play hide and seek in there. But after that one year, many students who scored quite high for Care of Magical Creatures had rendered that particular area unsuitable for everyday use. The centaurs love it, though - keeps other people out of their territory."

Ron was still thinking. "Are they going to test us individually, or in groups?"

"Actually," Harry said, "All students will be tested simultaneously."

"We're allowed to work together?" Ron asked.

"You don't honestly think those moving staircases were triggered by just one person casting a spell, do you?" was Harry's reply.

Ron grinned. "I think we need to have a house meeting."

* * *

Draco heaved a tremendous sigh as he slumped on the edge of his bed. "What am I going to do? There's no way I can cram in enough study material for eight examinations."

"Draco?" called out a friendly voice from the book propped open on Draco's nightstand. "Are you all right? You look a bit down in the dumps."

Draco aimed a pathetic face at his Uncle Sal. "The teachers have announced a new series of tests called 'midterms', and they've only given us two days to prepare."

Sal smiled reassuringly. "Oh, Draco. Midterms are not a new thing. We had them when I was a professor, and everyone always found them to be quite enjoyable."

Draco was unconvinced. "Who would ever consider a test enjoyable?"

Uncle Sal made a show of peering around the room. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to give you a bit of a hint. You are one of my Slytherins, after all." Leaning further into the foreground of his illustration, he stage whispered, "For starters, it's a practical exam where everyone is tested simultaneously and can work in groups of their own choosing. The object is to protect the castle from an invading force. Don't let them get too far in. Use whatever means necessary, barring mortal wounds or permanent disfigurement, etc."

Draco's eyes widened. "Who's playing the part of the invading army? The professors?"

"Oh no!" Uncle Sal corrected. "The professors must remain impartial observers in order to grade the students' performance fairly. It's always a third party. In my day, we used the muggles from the nearby village. Of course, with the modern statute of secrecy, that would be out of the question this year. If it were me, which - let's face it - it probably is, I'd ask the aurors to participate."

Draco shook his head. "I doubt that. Hogwarts is on the outs with the Ministry these days. Especially after you booted the Ministry appointed DADA professor in such a publicly humiliating way."

Uncle Sal looked rather pleased with himself. "You'll have to give me the details later. So, how do things stand between Hogwarts and the Ministry now?"

"Well," said Draco, "Umbridge has convinced Minister Fudge that Dumbledore has assembled an army of loyal students to overthrow the government. She's determined to help him seize control of Hogwarts and indoctrinate the students against Dumbledore and his allies."

"I see," said Uncle Sal. "Then perhaps the professors are merely taking advantage of an impending opportunity."

Draco stared at him. "You don't think… You don't actually think that the Ministry will attack Hogwarts?"

"Oh, not in so obvious a fashion. This Umbridge woman will probably commandeer a team of aurors to take the Headmaster into custody and relieve him of his position, leaving Hogwarts at the mercy of the Ministry." Uncle Sal's expression turned serious. "Draco, it's very important that she not succeed. You must rally the troops and save the school. Help them, Dracowan; you're their only hope."

Draco grinned. "I actually got that reference! Very well. It's about time Slytherins got to be the heroes. Should I wear a cape?"

"NO CAPES!"

"I got that reference, too! I'll get a lightsaber."

* * *

Seventh year Leonidas Adamadis, Leo to his friends, was monopolizing the favored seat in the Hufflepuff common room, a high-backed chair that had been adorned with the horns of some unknown creature (possibly an extinct variety of dragon) and upholstered with the hide of a water buffalo from Helga Hufflepuff's African safari days. He addressed the rather winded and excitable first year standing before him. "A message from Slytherin House?. What's Draco Malfoy up to these days? We have an important test to prepare for."

The first year, finally catching his breath, nodded vigorously. "Yes, that's what the message is about! He says the test is a mock battle. The students are supposed to defend Hogwarts from an invading army. Only Malfoy says he's received word from a very reliable source that the invasion is actually going to be real. He thinks Umbridge is going to storm the castle and try to take over!"

"What?! Is he advising unconditional surrender?" Leo asked with a frown.

"No! Slytherin House is proposing an alliance. He's offering to coordinate defenses with a chosen representative of each house in order to ensure the best chance for victory."

Leo's eyes practically glowed with excitement. "Finally! Some real action! Hufflepuff will triumph, and the Ministry will never know what hit them!"

A resounding cheer rose all around the common room as the guardians of Helga's legacy realized that centuries of Hufflepuff tradition would at last be revealed in all its glory. Their day had come.

* * *

Nigel Whitmore, the Slytherin third year appointed to act as Ambassador to Ravenclaw (the overinflated title being the only thing that would induce him to accept the task) applied the very annoying eagle-shaped knocker to Ravenclaw's front door a fourth time. As it had done the previous three times, the eagle responded with a ridiculously cryptic riddle. "For the last time," Nigel huffed, "I don't want to go in! I just need someone to come out so I can deliver a message!"

The eagle rolled its eyes. "Very well. One moment, please."

Several moments later, a rather frazzled Ravenclaw fifth year flung the door open, bellowed, "Go away! We're studying!" and then promptly slammed the door shut once more.

Nigel heaved a sigh. This was going to take forever. He raised his hand to the knocker and rapped a fifth time.

* * *

Glowing, green numbers hovered over the mantle of the Slytherin common room fireplace, counting down the minutes until Midterms would begin. Draco Malfoy stood before a large table, poring over a rough map of Hogwarts - both the grounds and castle proper. "Blaise, how are we on potions?"

"Professor Snape didn't exactly give permission to access the school's ingredient stores, but neither did he deny it." Blaise Zabini reported.

"Probably because you never bothered to ask," muttered Daphne Greengrass.

Blaise looked affronted. "I did ask, actually. He just didn't respond vocally. He did, however, leave the key within easy reach on his desk. Pansy is bottling up the last of the shrinking solution now. All the other potions have been packed and distributed among the ranks."

"And what about Snape's special extra credit assignment?" asked Draco.

Blaise grinned. "Stored in key locations throughout the castle. It's much too volatile to carry with us."

"Good, good," said Draco. "Where's Nigel? Any word from Ravenclaw yet?"

Gregory Goyle shrugged. "I checked on him an hour ago. He was still attempting to make contact."

Draco frowned. "I see. I suppose we'll have to make do with Hufflepuff and Gryffindor."

* * *

"I deserve to be leader!" shouted Zacharias Smith. "The Smiths are directly descended from Helga Hufflepuff. It's my birthright!"

Hannah Abbot sneered in disgust. "You know very well Hufflepuffs don't inherit titles. It's the strong who lead."

"Yeah!" Justin Finch Fletchley chimed in. "You can't even handle Butterbeer! How do you propose to lead an army with such a weak constitution?"

The ensuant cacophony of bickering was brought to an abrupt halt by the shrill whistle of Susan Bones. "Oi! Why don't we take this to Helga herself? Her portrait's hanging right there in the Great Hall."

Leo nodded. "An excellent suggestion, Susan. Let's go, everyone!" He led the procession of Hufflepuffs, with a grumbling Smith trailing behind, directly to their House Founder's portrait.

"Ahem. Pardon me, Lady Helga," Leo began. "We have a slight problem we were hoping you could resolve."

Helga smiled down at her little badgers. "Have you tried punching the problem? That usually works."

All eyes turned on the problem in question. "Unfortunately, that hasn't proved successful in this instance. Smith here is exceptionally hard-headed."

The aforementioned Smith tenderly probed his black eye. "Lady Helga, please inform these barbarians that I am the rightful leader of Hufflepuff as I am your direct descendant."

Helga frowned. "I wouldn't know about your lineage. What have you done to prove yourself?"

Smith frowned. "Prove myself?"

"Yes," said Helga. "Have you killed a dragon? Defeated a dark lord? Conquered North America?" She looked at him expectantly. "Well? Speak up!"

"Er...but I'm only a student," Smith argued.

"Pfft!" Helga scoffed. "I've heard of a Gryffindor who offed a dark lord while still in diapers. Being a student is no excuse."

The Hufflepuffs all looked at each other. Despite their relief that Helga wasn't about to endorse Smith's claim, they weren't sure that any of them met the requirements. Leo stepped forward again. "Unfortunately, the world isn't as dangerous a place as it was in your time, milady. None of us has really had the opportunity to prove ourselves in such a decisive fashion."

Helga frowned again. "I see. Well, there's only one way to settle this then. Who here is best at holding their liquor?"

Almost everyone pointed to Leo. "He was even in a bar fight last Hogsmeade weekend," offered Winifred Rockbell. "Not only did he win, he downed his opponents' drinks afterwards."

Leo shrugged off the praise with modesty. "Not like they were going to finish them. All of them were unconscious. Though I did have to compensate Aberforth for the damages. Who knew windows were so expensive."

Helga beamed at him. "A lad after my own heart! Badgers, I give you...What's your name?"

"Leonidas Adamadis, ma'am."

"I give you, Leonidas Adamadis, General of Hufflepuff Army. Be sure to see your head of house to arrange the ceremony."

Once again, all the Hufflepuffs proceeded to return to their common room, Smith trailing even further behind and grumbling all the louder. Sprout was waiting for them at the entrance. "Where have you all been? It's after curfew!"

"We asked Lady Helga to choose our general," said Hannah. "Leo won the honor. She said there is a ceremony?"

Sprout smiled widely. "Ooh! I've always wanted to do this! Come along then! Into my office. We must fetch the ceremonial garb."

Sprout's office must have had a latent expansion charm on it because the room seemed to grow larger to accommodate all of her students as they filed in. The professor opened a cabinet in one corner and pulled out an impressive Viking helmet resting atop a folded animal pelt. She blew off the coating of dust, placed the items on her desk, and turned to face Leo. "Leonidas Adamadis, it is my great honor and privilege to bestow upon you the rank of Supreme Commander General of Hufflepuff Army. Kneel and receive the symbols of your office."

Leo sank to one knee and humbly bowed his head. Sprout shook out the pelt, sending a couple of mothballs flying across the room, and draped the pelt over his shoulders. "I clothe you in the pelt of a nemean lion slain by Helga Hufflepuff, founder of our noble house." She reached for the helmet and placed it upon Leo's head. "I crown you with the war helmet of Hilmar, beloved consort of Hufflepuff, adorned with the horns of a Hungarian Horntail slain by Helga Hufflepuff, founder of our noble house." Sprout then drew her wand and summoned a jar of dark paste. She dipped two fingers into the mixture and drew badger stripes down Leo's forehead. "I anoint you with the stripes of the badger, the symbol of Helga Hufflepuff, founder of our noble house." Sprout then set the jar aside and wiped her hands on the handkerchief thoughtfully provided by Susan Bones. "Rise, General Leonidas, and lead your army to victory."

* * *

Several Ravenclaws were scurrying around the common room like headless chickens. Others were huddled in corners crying over massive textbooks. Still more were ignoring all the commotion, focused on sharpening their quills and taking copious notes from past lectures and supplemental reading. Most of the first years - unused to marathon study sessions - were passed out, mouths slightly open and drooling puddles wherever they lay.

Padma Patil was frantically stuffing books into her school satchel, straining the expansion charm nearly to its breaking point.

"What on earth are you doing, Padma?" asked Michael Corner.

"I'm packing a few things just in case I get a chance to study between exams. If only we know what order we'd be taking them in."

"That's a good idea," Michael agreed. "I'll tell the others."

At that moment, Luna Lovegood strolled by. "Leave the smaller ones behind, Padma," she advised. "The heavier ones will make more of an impact. I'm going to organize my balloons by color."

Padma and Michael stared at her as she wandered off. Michael shook his head. "That girl is completely mental. She's right about the books, though. The bigger ones will have the most information." Padma nodded and proceeded to empty out her satchel and repack her books.

* * *

"Thank you, everyone, for contributing your chess pieces for our war table," announced Ron. "And thank you, Harry, for providing us with an accurate and detailed map of the castle."

Harry grinned. "Don't mention it. Though I must confess it was Fred and George who managed to enlarge it for us."

The map in question completely covered the large table at the center of the Gryffindor common room, and chess pieces of varying styles dotted the parchment. The markers had all been charmed to represent the colors of the four houses.

"Ravenclaw has failed to report, so we should assume they're still in the dark and can't be relied on," said Ron. "Slytherin teams will station themselves here, here, and at each main junction on the second, third, and fourth floors. Hufflepuffs have guaranteed a few surprises along the charms corridor and in the trophy room. They'll also be patrolling floors one and five. Gryffindors are guarding the main entrance. In addition, Katie Bell will be leading the aerial squad in surveillance, and the twins and their team have set traps here, here, here, here, and of course here. Try to remember those locations as they haven't had time to erect wards to discriminate between friend and foe. Harry's group will be in charge of diversionary tactics. Hermione, I need you and your group to recruit as many Ravenclaws as you can find. First years will act as couriers between units as the aurors will be more inclined to dismiss them as harmless and let them move freely about the castle."

Ron looked about the room, making eye contact with as many individuals as possible before uttering his final words: "You all have your assignments. Let's do this."

* * *

Professor Sprout calmly sipped her breakfast tea. "I can't wait to see what Professor Slytherin has come up with for these midterm examinations. He's proven to be so inventive. The students are all quite taken with him."

Snape scowled at his scrambled eggs. "I don't think I want to know. I'm planning on holing myself up in my potions lab and waiting the whole thing out safely behind my wards."

"Come now, Severus," Professor McGonagall chided, "It's examinations, not a battle. How dangerous could it be?"

All eyes turned to a side door as Professor Slytherin strode up to the staff table and said, "Time for everyone to take their places. Electricity!" Suddenly, all chairs at the table vanished from the Great Hall, taking their occupants with them.

"What the blazes!" shouted McGonagall as she landed in the staff room along with all of the other professors and the headmaster. The staff table morphed into a 3-D projection of the castle and grounds. A transparent and cheery Salazar Slytherin floated above the image and waved cheekily.

"I've taken the liberty of portkeying you to a safe location where you may observe the proceedings without risking interference," Slytherin informed them all. "I've warded the doors to keep our participants out and you in. Our industrious house elves have provided a buffet of appetizers to tide you over for the duration of the exam."

Snape tested the door and found it locked. He turned and scowled at Slytherin. "Why aren't you in here with the rest of us?"

"Someone has to be on hand to deal with any situations that may exceed our student's capabilities. I'll be patrolling the corridors as an observer and ensuring all of our little soldiers remain intact." He then produced a muggle army helmet with the word OBSERVER clearly written across the front in red. "Do make yourselves comfortable while our students protect the school against Umbridge and her Delaurors."

"Wait!" shouted Professor Sinistra. "What if we need to use the loo?"

"Don't worry," assured Slytherin, "I've provided a port-a-loo for you."

"A what?" asked Sinistra.

Snape sneered at the tall, plastic, blue box in the corner. "I suppose it's bigger on the inside?"

Slytherin laughed. "No, I'm afraid I had to nick it from a nearby muggle construction site. Poor planning on my part, but I'm sure they won't miss it. Cheerio!" And with that, Slytherin vanished from sight.

McGonagall looked about the room. "Where's Gryffindor?"

* * *

"Sal? Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Godric.

"Trust me," Sal replied. "As a student, Harry Potter needs to participate in the examinations, but I can't use the time turner to be in two places at once when we have no idea how long this will take. Don't worry. You'll make a great me. Now drink up."

* * *

Meanwhile, at a nearby muggle construction site…

"Where did the port-a-loo go?" the burly muggle cried as he shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another and back again in a very awkward dance.

His co-worker shrugged. "Go in the bushes."

"I can't! It's number two!"

His co-worker shrugged again. "Told you that second burrito was a bad idea."

* * *

 **ZA: There will be a reward for the first minion to correctly guess the inspiration for Leo's name. This one's a bit more obvious, I think.**

 **Crispy: I've been so looking forward to this chapter and the next.**


	16. Midterms: Part 2

**ZA: (laughing maniacally) Oh, this is going to be fun!**

 **Crispy: I've been looking forward to it for months.**

 **ZA: Let's have Zacharias Smith give the disclaimer. I mean, he doesn't really get to do much.**

 **Crispy: I suppose he should make himself useful somehow.**

 **Zacharias: I, the True Heir of Hufflepuff -**

 **Crispy: I'm pretty sure you've been disowned by Helga Hufflepuff herself.**

 **Zacharias: How dare you!**

 **ZA: Just do the disclaimer and get lost.**

 **Zacharias: Zsugami Alba does not own J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series, or Frank Miller's 300.**

 **ZA: Shoutout to Karlo666, NagisaMisumi, Jostanos, and Psycho Karma for correctly guessing the inspiration for Leo's name. Great job!**

Chapter 16: Midterms, Part Two

Auror Franklin turned to Auror Tonks with a frown. "When I signed up for the Auror Corps, I expected a lot more action. Danger, excitement...women. What do I get? Escort duty. We're just kicking some old man out of his comfy chair so Her Royal Toadyship can take over a school of children. Worst assignment ever."

Tonks rolled her eyes. "Dumbledore isn't some old man. He's the most powerful wizard in Great Britain. Don't be so quick to dismiss this as an easy job. Hogwarts is full of surprises."

"What's he going to do?" scoffed Franklin. "Offer us a lemon sherbet and hope we choke on it?"

His remarks were loud enough to attract the attention of Auror Kingsley, the most senior of the ten aurors in attendance. "Quiet, you! We're approaching the gates." He glanced around suspiciously. "And something doesn't feel right."

"Ahem. Hem." Umbridge cleared her throat, calling their attention to the front. "Come along now. We have a headmaster to depose." She led the way through the gates, and the aurors followed her up the path towards the castle. "Remember, if you see that odious man masquerading as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, take him into custody. I shall question him later."

"Hey, Tonks," Franklin whispered loudly, "How exactly did she get booted from the castle in the first place?"

Tonks shrugged. "I don't know. I'm pretty sure Dumbledore didn't do it, or she would've had him arrested sooner. Maybe this new DADA professor was involved."

"I've got a younger brother who was there when she was thrown out," said Auror Took. "He says the new professor, who claims to be Salazar Slytherin himself, insulted her, opened a window, and then swung his wand like a nine iron and sent her sailing through said window into the forbidden forest."

"Pfft!" Auror Butkus sneered. "As if that would happen. Your brother's obviously lying. There's no way some lunatic claiming to be an old, dead dude would be able to get the drop on Miss Umbridge."

"Hey, Buttkisser," said Tonks. "Aren't you a little too far from your favorite smooching partner? Umbridge's butt is already several meters ahead of you." Everyone snickered as Butkus squeaked and hurried to catch up, eager to protect the VIP.

Kingsley frowned as they approached the main entrance. "I don't like this. It's the middle of the day. Where are the students?"

Umbridge waved away his concerns. "In class, as they should be."

"What about Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures? Those classes are held outside," Kingsley pointed out.

Umbridge sniffed. "I'm sure it's nothing to be concerned about. It's not as if we're expected. Now see to the door."

Kingsley pushed open the doors, and the world immediately exploded into chaos.

* * *

Several students in Gryffindor robes cast a mix of tripping jinxes and stunners at the intruders before disappearing behind barriers built from random piles of chairs and desks. Three junior aurors went down. Spells were flying everywhere.

"What do we do?" shouted Franklin. "We're being attacked by children! Can we cast spells at them? Is that even legal?"

"Shut up and use stunners!" Took roared as he charged through the gauntlet of magic like a raging bull. He was promptly felled by a well-aimed inkwell and hit the ground with a thud and a splatter of red grading ink.

Kingsley took charge. "Use the safe passage formation! Butkus, protect the High Inquisitor!"

Aurors cast shield charms, forming a shimmering, blue corridor. The group rushed through and up the main staircase. Umbridge huddled close to Butkus and shouted for the aurors to "take those miscreants out!" Turning back to the students as she reached safety, she cried, "All of you are expelled!"

As the aurors climbed the stairs, heading for the headmaster's office, the main staircase suddenly split into three sections, separating the group and moving them in different directions. Umbridge shrieked in outrage. "Stop this staircase at once! I demand it!"

"Don't worry, Miss Umbridge!" shouted Butkus. "I shall protect you!" As their section of stairs settled at the fifth floor, a stunner hit him squarely in the buttocks. Butkus was down for the count.

Umbridge turned, wand drawn, and came face to face with five savage-looking warriors. Their faces were painted like badgers, and they wore various pieces of mismatched armor. "There's no need for violence," she calmly stated. "Can't you see Dumbledore is just using you to further his own personal agenda? Hufflepuff is the house of loyalty, is it not? All the ministry requires is your loyalty - your complete submission to the law."

The lead badger, garbed in what appeared to be an animal skin and sporting a viking helmet on his head, stepped forward. "Submission? Now that's a bit of a problem. Rumor has it that Gryffindor has already declared their opposition. And if those foolish blunderers have that kind of nerve...well, Hufflepuffs have their reputation to consider."

Umbridge, recognized the boy, a friendly and easy going lad - eager to please. She adopted a sickly smile. "Choose your words carefully, Mr. Adamadis. They may be your last."

Leonidas pointed his wand at her menacingly.

"Foolish child!" Umbridge squawked. "No one threatens a Ministry official!"

Leonidas sneered. "You bring your Delaurors to these castle steps, insult our headmaster and our house. You threaten my people with slavery and death. Oh I've chosen my words carefully, High Inquisitor. Perhaps you should have done the same."

Umbridge's face contorted in fury. "This is treason! This is madness!"

Leonidas sheathed his wand and smirked. "Madness?" he whispered. "No," his voice rose, "THIS IS HOGWARTS!" He lifted his foot to her chest and shoved her over the railing into open space. Leo turned to his soldiers and grinned. "I've always wanted to do that!"

Umbridge screamed as she fell three stories before hitting a well placed trampoline charm and bouncing up one flight, landing in the Charms corridor. She'd barely regained her equilibrium when another team of badgers came running towards her, voices raised in a fierce battle cry. Umbridge fled further down the corridor and ducked into an alcove to catch her breath. "My...first act...as...Headmistress...will be to...disband Hufflepuff House...and expel that barbarian Adamadis."

"Disband Hufflepuff House, will you?" an ominous voice spoke from a point just above Umbridge's left ear. She turned to see a beautiful, enraged woman glaring at her from a gilt frame. "You'll find my badgers to be a most formidable enemy. I look forward to witnessing your demise." The portrait leaned toward the edge of her frame and yelled, "She's right here, Potter! Vanquish her like a dark lord! Do it with style!" Turning back to Umbridge, she grinned. "I'm so glad I sobered up for this."

Umbridge peeked out of the alcove and saw that infuriating brat, Potter, standing just a few meters away and wearing that ragged sorting hat on his head. He waggled his fingers at her. "Hello, Wicked Witch! I shall abide by the wishes of my fair lady and vanquish you without the use of my wand!" He drew an ornate sword from a scabbard at his hip and waved it above his head theatrically. "Come at me if you dare!"

Umbridge was so incensed that she ran at him, a nasty curse on the tip of her tongue. Potter turned and fled down a side passage, arms flailing as he shouted, "Run run run like a bullet from a gun! You can't catch me! I'm the Chosen One!" The hat spun around and blew a raspberry.

"Get back here, you demon spawn!" Umbridge shouted as she ran after him.

* * *

Aurors Dawlish and Pickett crept cautiously through the halls, wands at the ready. "Careful, Pickett," whispered Dawlish. "They could be anywhere."

Pickett nodded nervously. "Just as long as we don't run into any more of those Hufflepuffs. I thought they were supposed to be gentle."

Dawlish shot him an incredulous look. "Have you ever met a gentle badger?"

Pickett frowned. "I've never seen one in person. They look cute."

Dawlish rolled his eyes. "Badgers are fierce when their territory is threatened. They're like bears, only smaller."

Pickett looked doubtful. "Bears are cute, too. I have a teddy named Pickles."

"Pickles?"

"I like pickles."

"There is something seriously wrong with you," sighed Dawlish as he shook his head in disbelief. Suddenly he turned to his right. "Hang on a mo. Did you see something?"

Pickett peered down a narrow corridor. "See what? It's rather dim in there."

Dawlish frowned. "I could swear I saw something move. Lumos." The tip of his wand glowed bright, casting light into the darkness ahead. Several meters in, a white face appeared and stared at them with wide eyes. It was a girl. She wore black and white clothing, white gloves, and a beret. She appeared to be unarmed.

Slowly, the girl raised her hand and thrust it forward, only to stop abruptly. Her other hand came up. It, too, stopped abruptly next to the first. It was as if she were standing in front of an invisible wall. Her hands frantically moved up and down, seeking the edges of the wall and finding only a flat barrier.

"I think she's trapped behind some invisible wall," whispered Pickett.

The girl's hands continued to search, now moving in all directions around her and always finding resistance. Dawlish watched with growing alarm. "Not a wall - a box."

"We have to help her!" cried Pickett. "What if it's airtight? She could suffocate!"

"No, Pickett!" shouted Dawlish. But he was too late. Pickett had rushed ahead, startling Cho Chang from her hiding place behind a suit of armor. The young Ravenclaw grabbed the heaviest book, The Evolution of Ancient Runes, from her satchel and raised it above her head. "Hit the books, loser! It's time to review!" Pickett was felled in one blow.

The white-faced girl, apparently now free of her trap, brandished a green rubber item and a small hand pump and proceeded to inflate a long, narrow balloon. She smiled brightly as she tied off the end of the balloon and began twisting it into the shape of a giraffe. Dawlish observed all of this with growing horror. She was a mime! He quickly turned tail and fled the jarring squeak of manipulated latex.

Cho watched his retreat in shock. "How did you know that would work?" she asked.

Luna just smiled serenely and added another balloon to her giraffe, converting it into a hat which she then placed on the unconscious Pickett's head. "I believe the technical term is coulrophobia. You'd be surprised how many people suffer from it."

* * *

 **(To be continued in Part Three.)**


	17. Midterms: Part 3

**Crispy: Sorry for the delay, but ZA and I have been ill, and then...**

 **ZA: Finals happened.**

 **Crispy: Exactly.**

 **ZA: Come on in, Headmaster! It's time for the disclaimer.**

 **Dumbledore: I'm so glad you invited me. I must admit the staff room is a bit cramped right now, but it's interesting to see how far our students have come.**

 **Crispy: Yes. You should hurry and do the disclaimer so you can get back. You don't want to miss anything.**

 **Dumbledore: Oh, of course not! Zsugami Alba does not own Harry Potter or Star Wars or that company that makes the yummy breading for frying chicken.**

 **ZA: Excellent. Electricity!**

 **Dumbledore: Oop!**

Chapter 17: Midterms, Part Three

Back in the crowded staff room, the professors were observing the proceedings with a mixture of horror and delight.

"Is it just me, or do they seem to be herding the aurors to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom?" asked Flitwick.

Snape leaned forward for a closer look at the projection of the castle. "Hmm...yes. They've obviously set a trap there. The room's full of second years, and the floor appears to be covered in parchment. Perhaps they've scattered Lego pieces across the room."

Burbage frowned in confusion. "What would be the point of that?"

Snape scoffed. "Obviously you don't have children."

"Neither do you, Severus," snapped McGonagall.

"No," he conceded, "But I have guardianship over an entire houseful, and Draco has been experimenting with muggle toys."

Sprout winced. "Ouch. Poor Severus. Those things are evil."

The pureblood professors looked completely lost, so Snape filled them in. "Legos are quite possibly the hardest, sharpest objects known to mankind. They're used to build things, but they're excruciating when stepped on."

Flitwick shuddered. "And they allow children to play with them?"

"Obviously."

Sprout shrugged. "The suggested age is 8 years and up, but they're really only dangerous when they're left lying on the floor and stepped on by an unsuspecting passer by."

McGonagall frowned as she watched events unfold on the third floor. "Has anyone noticed that Harry Potter has been behaving rather...oddly today? I'm worried he's under too much stress."

Snape adopted an expression of exaggerated disbelief. "Potter behaving oddly? Whatever would cause you to suggest anything amiss with such a normal, bright boy? Admittedly, it is a bit unusual for a student to suffer a two-month bout of dysentery and survive, but Pomfrey has assured us that he's completely recovered."

McGonagall looked appalled. "Dysentery? What on earth are you talking about? Surely you don't believe those rumors?"

Snape eyebrows rose, and he lifted his hands palms upward in a gesture of mock innocence. "Does anyone _really_ know what happened?"

Everyone turned to Dumbledore, who was just exiting the portaloo. He froze the moment he realized all eyes were staring at him. Blushing furiously, he said, "I did cast a deodorizing charm."

* * *

Kingsley held his wand at the ready as he tread softly down the darkened corridor. "I told them I had a bad feeling about this," he muttered to himself. He spotted a crumpled form up ahead and edged closer, keeping an eye out for enemy combatants. The wandlight revealed the form to be Auror Pickett, unconscious and wearing a balloon hat. "Pickett! What have they done to you? Where's Dawlish?" A quick assessment revealed that the auror had been struck from behind by a blunt object. "They're not even using their wands." Kingsley quickly dragged his colleague behind a statue of a humpbacked witch. "You'll be safe here. I'll return with reinforcements," Kingsley assured him before heading down a back staircase towards the central courtyard.

* * *

Tonks had never been more thankful for her metamorphmagus abilities. So far, she'd managed to sneak past various groups of rabid students by assuming the form of a timid first year. It was pure luck that she had observed them being used as couriers. Apparently, Pickett and Butkus were down, Umbridge had been bounced from Fifth to Third floor, Dawlish had been spotted running for his life and screaming something about mimes and balloons, and no one had seen Franklin. She hoped Kingsley was still in the game, but she wasn't going to depend on it. "I have to get to the Headmaster's office. He'll protect me as a member of the Order."

* * *

"The mimes! The mimes!" Dawlish was trembling and feverish with fright. "How did they know? Nobody knows my secret. There are no clowns in the wizarding world." He cast his eyes about him before making a mad dash toward the central staircase. He had to get out of there.

* * *

Draco was having the time of his life. He was a Jedi knight commanding his troops for the Rebel Army. He had spent a precious three hours in the library before discovering the spell that would convert his wand to a light saber. It had been written in the margins of a third year Potions text that proclaimed itself the property of The Halfblood Prince, whoever that was. He waved his elegant weapon before him. It was green. First lightsabers are _always_ green.

"Someone's coming!" Blaise hissed.

Draco deactivated his lightsaber as Blaise ducked back around the corner. "Quick," he commanded, "Hand me the item."

" _The item_?" asked Blaise. "Are you being purposefully vague?"

Draco sniffed. "Of course I am. It's more mysterious that way. Besides, I could call it a thingamadoodle and you'd still know what I meant. Now hand it over."

Blaise's shoulders slumped. "I wanted to do the first one, Draco," he sighed as he carefully placed a glowing bottle in his commander's outstretched hand.

"I told you to call me Darth Krakken," Draco chided.

"That's not even a Jedi name; it's a Sith name!"

"Mimes! Must escape the mimes!" shouted the approaching Delauror.

"Doesn't he realize we can hear him?" muttered Blaise.

Draco took a moment to admire the potion's layers of purple, green, yellow, and orange. "All Imperial soldiers are lunatics," he stated before stepping out to the center of the corridor. He shook the bottle high above his head. "Halt! In the name of The Force!"

Dawlish skid to a stop, eyes wide. Draco dashed the bottle to the floor just a few yards in front of the frightened man.

The second the bottle cracked, exposing the potion to air, there was an impressive explosion, and a nearby tapestry caught fire. Dawlish lost his footing and hit his head on a low-hanging gargoyle, rendering him unconscious.

The noise and tremors caught the attention of a passing complement of Hufflepuffs. "Cool! What was that?"

Draco turned to them with a proud grin on his face. "It's Shake 'N Break, and I helped!"

* * *

"I think we should dock points for destruction of school property," said McGonagall.

"Oh, I don't know," said Dumbledore. "That tapestry was an eyesore. I've been tempted to set fire to it myself."

* * *

No sooner had Kingsley stepped out into the courtyard than he was pelted with dungbombs thrown by students on brooms.

"Get him!" shouted Katie Bell. "You need to work on your accuracy, McClaggen! You throw like a boy!"

Kingsley dove for cover under a stone bench. Out of the corner of his eye, a flash of green robes caught his attention. He turned his head to see a rather scruffy-looking man wearing a helmet. "Help me, man!" Kingsley cried.

"Sorry," said the man in a sing-song voice as he pointed to a sign affixed to his helmet, "Observer!" Kingsley could only stare incredulously as the man gave him two thumbs up. "Keep going! You're doing great!"

* * *

"Stop...you...miscreant!" huffed Umbridge as she staggered after the Potter boy. She aimed another hex at him, but he dodged it nimbly and shouted another ridiculous ditty.

"Yo! I told you you can't touch this! Why you standing there, man, you can't touch this! Yo! Sound the bells! School is in, sucker! You can't touch this!" Potter shouted rhythmically as the hat atop his head emitted all sorts of rude sounds.

* * *

Charity couldn't believe her ears. "Is the Sorting Hat actually beatboxing?"

"Obviously," drolled Severus.

* * *

Umbridge chased after the disgusting duo with renewed purpose. "I am going to incinerate that hat!" She was so enraged that she failed to notice the ever-growing mass of students following behind her.

Potter led her through several turns before making a beeline to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "Ha!" Umbridge crowed. "I'll have him cornered!" She added more speed and burst into the classroom just seconds behind her prey.

"AAGH!" she screamed in agony as pain lanced through her feet. Someone had vanished her shoes midstep, and her feet had landed on the hardest, sharpest objects known to man. Yes, Legos. Obviously. "What on earth?" Then the parchment strewn about the floor flew upwards as the net beneath it was triggered, scooping up the irate inquisitor as it rose toward the ceiling. "Release me at once! I demand it!" Umbridge cried.

"It's no use, ma'am," sighed a voice to her left. Umbridge turned to see several nets and cages hanging from various points in the ceiling - each holding one or two aurors. "We've been soundly defeated."

* * *

Padma stared at Hermione, hardly believing her ears. "You mean we aren't being quizzed on curriculum?" she asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, I told you it's a practical exam. We're applying our knowledge by defending the castle against intruders. If you see an auror, take them out."

"But what do I do with all these books I've brought?" Padma fussed.

Hannah Abbott huffed in exasperation. "Use them!"

"How?" Padma asked.

"Like this!" shouted Hannah, and she grabbed an especially thick tome on wild daisy pollination and swung it forcefully to her right where it impacted on Draco's face.

"Ow! I'm on your side!" he cried.

Hannah looked unimpressed. "Then you should have announced your approach."

"But I was humming the Imperial March," he replied.

Hermione squinted as she took in Draco's attire. "Malfoy, why are you dressed like a Jedi?"

"I'm leading the Rebel Forces against the Empire," he informed her. "And I'm not Malfoy, I'm Darth Krakken."

Padma looked confused. "But that's a Sith name."

Draco rose to his feet and dusted himself off. "Does a Sith have a cool lightsaber like this?" He brandished his wand theatrically, and a green blade of light extended from the tip. "Cool, isn't it?"

Hannah still looked unimpressed. "Draco, why are you here?"

"There's only one auror left," he said. "It's the woman. Last I saw, she was headed in this direction."

A flash of light shot past Draco's ear and hit the wall. Hannah shoved him to the ground and threw her book, hitting an unfamiliar first year square in the chest with such force that it knocked the wind out of the poor lad, who immediately morphed back into Auror Tonks.

"That's no first year," breathed Hermione.

Draco looked from the downed auror to Hannah. "I love you!" he said.

Hannah looked down at him. "I know."

* * *

The entire staff were invited to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom at the end of the battle. Slytherin doffed his observer's helmet and addressed the invading army.

"Congratulations, and thank you for your participation in the first Magical v. Magical Midterm Examinations! Sure, it wasn't nearly as exciting as the ones where we employed the muggle villagers, but I think it was a valuable learning experience for everyone." He beamed at the dumbfounded aurors standing before him.

Dawlish slowly raised his hand. "You mean, this was a test?"

"Yes!" Slytherin nodded. "And I'm happy to say that our students passed with flying colors. You didn't do too badly yourselves, considering we had the element of surprise." The aurors all looked at each other in bewilderment. "One of you nearly made it to the Headmaster's office. A new record!"

"Get me out of this thing, you wretched man!" screamed Umbridge from her net, still hanging from the ceiling.

"I will once you've remembered your manners and I have your word that you'll never attack my school again," answered Slytherin.

" _Your_ school?" she spat.

"Yes," said Slytherin. "I did help found it after all."

"I'll never surrender to the likes of you!" cried Umbridge.

"Pity," said Slytherin. He drew his wand. "Do try to avoid the water this time, if you please." With a flick, the net went sailing out the window and into the distant forest.

* * *

Dumbledore sank back into the chair behind his desk and peered at the man standing before him. "What was it you wished to speak to me about, Professor Slytherin?"

"Well," Sal began, "I was wondering if you could let Godric in on the secret. I can't very well leave him to his own devices in the castle."

Dumbledore frowned. "Secret? What secret?"

"The location of the Order's headquarters," replied Sal. "I want to bring Godric with me for Christmas break."

Dumbledore looked shocked. "How do you know about the Order headquarters? And why are you planning to spend Christmas there?"

Sal smiled benignly. "Oh, we can drop the act in here, Headmaster. We both know who I really am."

"You mean you're not Salazar Slytherin?" asked Dumbledore. "I could have sworn the castle recognized you as such."

Sal shrugged. "Well, yes. I am Salazar Slytherin, but we both know I wasn't born with that name. He's sort of the Clark Kent to my Superman, isn't he? Or would that be the Superman to my Clark Kent?" He frowned. "I am cooler as Salazar, so he could easily be Superman. On the other hand, Harry is considered by many to be the savior of the wizarding world, so he could easily be Superman, too." Sal continued to mumble to himself as the truth began to dawn on Dumbledore.

"You mean to tell me that you are Harry Potter?" he asked.

Now it was Sal's turn to look surprised. "Of course I am. Don't tell me you didn't know. You always know everything."

Dumbledore shook his head. "How was I supposed to know this?"

"But…" Sal's expression started to wilt. "You twinkled at me."

"I twinkle at everyone, my dear boy," said Dumbledore. "It's what I do."

Sal looked even sadder. "But you gave me the special Harry twinkle that you only give to me."

"Er…" stalled Dumbledore.

"So...I'm not...special?"

"Er…"

* * *

"We're going to need therapy after this," muttered Took.

"What's therapy?" asked Dawlish as he signaled the bartender for another round.

"It's sort of like mind healing," Took explained. "I've got a squib cousin who specializes in it. He solves all sorts of mental problems: addictions, anxiety, post traumatic stress, phobias…"

"Phobias?" asked Dawlish.

"Yeah, you know. Arachnophobia, claustrophobia, agoraphobia, coulrophobia…"

"What's coulrophobia?" asked Pickett.

"Fear of clowns," piped up Tonks. Everyone shuddered.

"I hate clowns," muttered Kingsley. "Freak me out."

Butkus nodded. "Did you see that girl dressed as a mime? Nearly wet myself."

Pickett frowned. "I thought she was rather sweet. She gave me this hat."

Tonks eyed him critically. "However did you make it through the academy?'

Aberforth approached their table with a tray full of frothy mugs. "So I hear there was a bit of excitement up at the castle."

The aurors all gave him tired nods.

"Who made it the furthest?"

"What do you mean?" asked Kingsley.

"I mean," said Aberforth, "Who made it furthest into the castle?"

They all looked at each other. "I suppose it was Tonks," said Kingsley. "She nearly made it to the Headmaster's office."

Aberforth beamed at her. "Well, then! Drinks are on the house for you, Nymphadora!"

"Don't call me Nymphadora!" shouted Tonks. "And keep 'em coming!"

"Hey," said Took, looking around. "Where's Franklin?"

* * *

Hogwarts, in a broom cupboard on the First floor…

Day 4: The caretaker has been kind. His cat, Mrs. Norris, brings me the odd mouse to sate my hunger. Meager provisions for which I am grateful.


	18. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

**ZA: Behold! The long-awaited Christmas chapter!**

 **Sirius: Wow! It's really a mess in here!**

 **Crispy: It's clutter, and we're in the middle of packing.**

 **Sirius: You're not seriously keeping all of this junk, are you? Is that a Cameo cd?**

 **Crispy: That's not ours.**

 **Sirius: It's in your house.**

 **Crispy: It's my husband's.**

 **Sirius: Riiiiiiight.**

 **Crispy: Just do the disclaimer. And give me that. *snatches cd***

 **Sirius: All right, all right. Zsugami Alba does not own Harry Potter.**

Chapter 18: Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

"Okay, Godric," Sal warned, "You need to be on your best behavior. We want to make a good impression." Sal raised his hand to knock on the door when suddenly he turned back to face his friend. "And don't say anything weird to Mrs. Weasley. That goes double for you, Sassy. The woman has a temper and won't put up with any nonsense."

"So she's a combination of Helga and Rowena?" asked Godric.

"Yes." Sal narrowed his eyes at Godric. "And she's married. Hence the 'Mrs.' in front of her name." He turned back to the door. "Okay, here we go." He knocked sharply.

The door opened a crack, one electric blue eye peering out from the shadows within the house. "What's the password?" demanded a gruff voice.

Sal frowned. "Password? Dumbledore didn't say anything about a password."

"Who are you?" the voice demanded.

Sal grinned. "Professor Salazar Slytherin, at your service!" He turned and pointed to Godric standing beside him. "This is my colleague, Professor Godric Gryffindor." Godric's hat cleared it's throat pointedly. "Oh, and this is Sassy, the Sorting Hat."

Godric smiled innocently and held up a wrapped dish. "We've brought pie!"

The eye continued to glare at them. "How do I know you're who you say you are?"

Sal frowned again. "That is a difficult one. You can't really ask us a security question because you don't know anything about us that nobody else knows."

"You could ask someone else," offered Godric. "I'm sure one of our friends would vouch for us. Ronald, Severus, or perhaps the twins?"

The door didn't budge an inch. "How can I trust the ancestor of You Know Who?"

Sal's expression darkened. "For the last time, Lord Hissypants is not my heir! If he were, I would disown him, but he isn't. So there. Really...there's no family resemblance whatsoever - in appearance or personality. You don't see me going about killing everyone!" he continued, waving his arms in full rant. "I don't go gallivanting across the countryside saying, 'Oh! Look at me! I'm a dark lord! I go around hexing muggles and fleeing from small children! I don't have shoes or a nose or hair or...any redeeming qualities, but I command a bunch of sniveling mortem munchers who can't think for themselves.'"

The door suddenly swung wide open to reveal a grinning Mad Eye Moody. "Even Snape wouldn't dare call him Lord Hissypants. Come on in."

* * *

Sirius wandered into the foyer. "Mad Eye, who was at the door?"

"Hello!" cried Sal. "I'm Professor Salazar Slytherin, and this is my colleague, Professor Godric Gryffindor and his faithful headgear, Sassy."

Godric held up the dish again. "We brought pie!"

Sirius stared wide-eyed at the two guests. "You're the one who erased Mother!"

"You're welcome," replied Sal.

Godric was still holding up the pie dish. "It's apple," he supplied helpfully.

Sirius accepted the dish automatically while continuing to stare at Sal. "Why is the founder of Slytherin House in my...house? How did you find this place?"

Godric grinned. "Albus told me! I'm not sure how Sal found out."

"That's an interesting story, actually," said Sal. "You see, I was taken from my house in the dead of night while my relatives were at some fake lawn awards thing, escorted by a company of magicals on brooms, and presented with a strip of parchment bearing this address."

Godric looked impressed. "How exciting!"

Sal nodded. "Quite."

Sirius frowned. "Where is the company of magicals on brooms?"

"Oh, that was just my first visit," Sal said, waving his hand dismissively. "I've been here twice since then."

"Riiiiiiight."

"Mad Eye did let us in," Sal pointed out.

"And we brought delicious apple pie!" added Godric.

Mad Eye nodded. "It'd be rude to turn them out after accepting pie."

Sirius hesitated a moment and then shrugged. "Well, there's room for a couple more at the table. Why not?" He turned and led the way to the kitchen.

* * *

Molly set a huge bowl of mashed potatoes on the last empty space of table before she stepped back and examined the feast she'd laid out. "I do hope I've made enough. How many professors did you say were coming, Albus?"

Albus smiled reassuringly, "Only two more, Molly. Everything looks delicious. And roast beef is Professor Slytherin's favorite, isn't it, Severus?"

Snape looked up with a frown. "How would I know the culinary preferences of that headache?"

"Well, you are the one who spends the most time with him these days," replied Albus. "I should think your observant nature has had you filing away all sorts of personal information about your new friend." Severus glared at that last word.

Molly patted Severus on the shoulder with a comforting tutting sound. "Oh, you poor dear. Having to associate with that vile man just because he's the founder of your house."

Ron and Hermione winced, but Severus just rolled his eyes and muttered, "You have no idea."

"Two more guests, Molly," announced Moody. He strolled into the kitchen, followed by Sal, Godric, and a bemused Sirius.

Godric beamed at their hostess. "You must be Molly Weasley! You look as fresh and lovely as the apples I baked into our pie!"

Ron groaned. "That's not the least bit creepy."

Cutting in front of Godric before he could begin his flirting in earnest, Sal offered his hand to Molly. "Hello, Mrs. Weasley. It's so lovely to meet you. We really appreciate your hospitality this week. Hogwarts does a nice Christmas, but I've heard so much about your famous roast. I simply couldn't turn down the invitation to join your family."

Molly merely looked at Sal's hand distrustfully. "Well, I couldn't very well turn away a friend of the Headmaster."

There was an awkward moment of silence before Sirius lifted the dish in his hands. "They brought pie."

* * *

Sal watched as Molly offered Godric a fourth helping of potatoes. He leaned over to whisper at Hermione. "Why does she not like me? I've been so charming. Does she not like apple pie?"

Hermione frowned. "I thought Godric baked the pie."

"It was my idea," said Sal.

Hermione sent him a sympathetic look. "I wouldn't worry about it. Remember when she was giving me the brush-off in fourth year after she'd read those Skeeter articles?"

Ron leaned over to join the conversation. "Yeah, and you didn't just have one or two bad articles. You've had centuries of bad press." He immediately winced as Hermione's elbow connected sharply with his ribs. "Cheer up, mate. We'll change her mind."

Sal's shoulders slumped pathetically as Molly smiled at Godric. "Apparently, plastering one's buttocks on the ceiling of a school for children is more forgivable than allegedly siring a line of dark lords," he muttered.

Ron stared at him incredulously. "And that surprises you?"

"...no."

Fortunately, Godric wasn't simply basking in the Weasley matron's attention. He was making every effort to put in a good word for his best friend. "I'm feeling a little sad that everyone seems so against Sal these days," he complained to Molly. "He's really a wonderful person. It's all because that horrible Wimpleweaver woman spread those lies about him."

Molly, though officially against gossiping, was never one to pass up an opportunity to obtain useful information. "What woman is that?"

Godric proceeded to unfold the heartbreaking tale of poor, misunderstood Salazar Slytherin and the evil witch who hijacked his family legacy. It was a stunning performance. "And of course there was the fact that Sal never had anyone looking out for his best interests when he was a child. So used to shouldering the burdens of life on his own. We did the best we could, Rowena and Helga and I, but we could offer no absolute proof that Dorcas' spawn inherited his gift from her. She never spoke Parseltongue in public, you know. The better to seal Salazar Jr's identity in the eyes of the ignorant masses. Worst thing to ever happen to Hogwarts, and poor Sal wasn't even around to defend himself!"

Molly's eyes shone with unshed tears. "Oh, the poor man!" She turned resolutely to Sal. "Professor Slytherin, please have some more roast beef. You're far too thin. Ron, pass him the gravy. And Severus,don't even think of keeping that last roll for yourself."

Ron grinned as Molly snatched the lump of bread from Severus' hands and redirected every last bit of food remaining on the table toward her new favorite guest. "Told you, mate. Mum's rather predictable like that."

Hermione caught Godric's eye, and the two shared a conspiratorial wink.

* * *

Dinner was finally winding down when Sal looked across the table at a very grumpy roll-deprived Potions Master. "Severus, have I ever told you about the time I was chased by a rampaging werewolf?"

Remus and Sirius exchanged nervous glances, but Severus looked unimpressed. "No."

Undeterred by his friend's lack of enthusiasm for the topic, Sal continued, "Luckily, my godfather was there to save me. He struggled valiantly with the wolf while my friends and I got to safety."

Remus attempted to clear his throat. "Was he killed?"

"Oh no. He was fine," Sal waved his hand dismissively.

Remus frowned. "And the wolf didn't bite him?"

"Um…" Sal looked thoughtful. "You know, I don't know. He seemed fine when next I saw him. Well, aside from being unconscious, but that was the dementors."

Sirius shuddered. "I hate dementors."

"Of course you do," Sal tutted sympathetically.

Remus stared at Sal. Then he looked at Sirius. Then he looked back at Sal, then at Ron and Hermione, then Severus, and then he looked back at Sal. "How…?"

Sal smirked. "All in a day's work for the son of a marauder."

Remus continued to stare for several more seconds before his eyes lit up and a mischievous grin spread across his face. It took ten years off him, really. Then he turned to Severus. "I expect details later."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

Sirius frowned. "Details? What details? What are we talking about?"

* * *

Several anvil-sized hints after they had adjourned to the sitting room to enjoy the glow of the fairy lights around the tree, Sirius was still confused. Something was going on. Remus knew about it. Snape knew about it. Everyone seemed to know about it. Nobody was telling him what it was. The Headmaster wouldn't stop twinkling, and the twins were definitely up to something - but that didn't really mean anything.

Remus was in full troll mode. "So, tell us, Professor Slytherin," he began again.

"Oh, please call me Sal."

"Of course, Sal. You must have had a brilliant potions instructor to become so adept at the subject. Your skill is legendary. Who taught you?"

Severus stiffened. He probably didn't appreciate being outshone by a man who obviously annoyed him. Or perhaps he was still sore about that roll.

Sal laughed. "That man should never have been allowed within thirty feet of children."

"Why on earth would you say that?" asked Remus in his overly innocent tone. Definitely up to something.

"He hated children. Every single lesson, it was: 'Slytherin, I said mince, not dice!'...'Another zero for today, Slytherin!'..." Sal's impersonation of his potions instructor sounded an awful lot like Snape. "'I'd award full points, but the assignment was to make a burn salve, not a corrosive that can eat through six inches of solid oak in under a minute'...'Slytherin! Detention! Perhaps you can finally make use of that disgraceful mop you call hair by scouring this lab from top to bottom.'"

Snape glared at Sal, who merely shrugged and said, "Well, all right, I made that last one up, but it's pretty in character."

Molly tutted at Sal soothingly and handed him a fresh cup of tea and a biscuit. "How on earth did you learn anything in such a hostile environment?"

Sal shrugged again. "Trial and error. Lots and lots of error. Luckily, Rowena was able to invent the pensieve so I could go back through my memories and study the lessons without any emotional distractions."

* * *

Sassy was leading everyone in a round of Christmas carols. He really did have a lovely singing voice. His tenor paired well with Godric's baritone as they presented a duet version of "The Boar's Head Carol". Everyone cheered as the last "Domino" faded into silence. Sassy managed a pleased bow from atop his perch on Godric's head. "Thank you, thank you! That was always Helga's favorite, you know. Actually, I have it on good authority that it's one of Mister Potter's favorites as well."

Suddenly, everyone looked at each other in dismay. "Um...where is Harry?"

* * *

 **Omake: Are you even listening to me?**

Severus gave his tea an exact 3.5 stirs clockwise. "Have you figured out the logistics of your Holiday break?"

Sal sighed. "Well, Hermione is insisting I give the time turner a break. She's worried about overexposure to myself, or something like that. Actually, I wasn't really listening. After all these years, I've apparently programmed my ears to cancel out her lecture frequency. All I hear is 'Really, Harry...blah blah blah...you can't assume...blah blah…' Do you think I should see a healer about that? I mean, people don't normally use the word 'blah' that much in normal speech, do they?"

Severus blew across the top of his steaming cup before taking a sip. "I don't know. I seem to encounter that word with surprising frequency myself."

* * *

**For those of you interested in a little early holiday cheer, various renditions of "The Boar's Head Carol" can be found on YouTube.


End file.
